Firebird's Son
by Darth Marrs
Summary: Think you know what the magical world is like? You're wrong. A completely AU story of Harry Potter in a world with four times more women than men. But will a world run by women, in which wizards are commodities to be controlled and threats to be contained, actually be any better?
1. The Eyes of a Witch

**The Firebird's Son**

A Harry Potter Story

By Darth Marrs

**Author's Notes:**

I had a really long author's note here, but then I realized nobody reads these. However, I did want to establish some expectations and dash others, so you'll find a brief discussion of this story in my forums. Review responses will also fall in that forum as well to streamline the actual reading text.

**What you will find…** A radical AU of characters, settings, history and circumstances. Possible OOCness; some gender switching (according to set rules established above); Seer Harry (for good reason); Seer Luna (also for good reason); Truly Long Lifespans; NO HORCRUXES as described in the book; SEX BUT NO LEMONS; violence; a pot-smoking Sybil Trelawney; and Elemental magical leanings (Not A:TLA, but Greek Classical references).

**Disclaimer**…Yep, you guessed it. I don't own Harry Potter.

* * *

**Chapter One: The Eyes of a Witch**

Petunia Dursley would never admit to any of the neighbours how very much her nephew frightened her. They would never understand, not really. "He's just a boy," Mrs Pettis next door would say with a dismissive wave of her hand. "Just take him under your thumb and shorten his leash."

"The boy will only act out only as much as you let him," Mrs Polkiss would say, which was ironic given the way her own children acted out.

They could never understand, but Petunia knew what they did not. She remembered what it was like growing up with a witch-born; she still bore the mental scars even if her skin was unblemished. It wasn't just the way Harry looked at her with those witch-green eyes of his. It was if he were looking not through her, but deeper inside her than was proper. It wasn't the fact that he did not cry when he should, and often cried when he shouldn't. Nor was it the way he seemed to watch things in the air with rapturous attention that were not there at all.

No, it was the way he made her feel when she got too close to him. Not just her, but anyone. The first time she picked him up from the basket Vernon found on the front step of their house, she felt as if she were holding an electrical wire. The hair stood up on the back of her neck and on her arms, and her stomach twisted and cramped. Vernon did not try to hold the boy—the one time he reached out to him, he jerked his hand back.

"One of them," he snarled. He started a diatribe about how he would not have one of _them_ in his house. However, when Petunia read aloud the letter that accompanied the babe Vernon's face at first reddened, and then paled. "They wouldn't," he finally sputtered.

"They would," Petunia told him surely. "You don't know what it was like, Vernon, when they came for his mum; or what happened right after. They wouldn't think twice to steal our minds and make us slaves, and if they didn't come, the boy would become too dangerous. You remember what happened to my mum and me!"

She placed the toddler back into his basket, but he immediately climbed out and walked with much, much steadier legs than Dudley had at fifteen months, straight toward her. "Green light!" he said in a babyish lisp. "Where Mummy go? Green light!"

He was only fifteen months. They were proud of Dudley saying "Ball!" at fifteen months.

"We may have to take him in," Vernon finally said, "but the letter says nothing about how we treat him. He'll be no son of mine, and I won't tolerate any of his foolishness."

Almost instantly, the family cat, Mittens, came tearing down the stairs from the first floor as if her tail were on fire. Petunia watched in shock as the cat ran to Harry, and then into him, knocking the toddler onto his nappy covered bottom. "Mittens!" he said, giggling as the cat licked him.

There was no possible way he could have known what the cat was called.

Vernon got rid of the animal the next day. He did not take it to a shelter; he took it into the back garden and broke its neck before burying it in the shrubberies. More disturbing was the way Harry cried over the following week, asking for "Mittens" and saying, again, "Green light! Mittens!" until Vernon lost all semblance of his temper and threw the boy into the cupboard under the stairs.

And there he remained.

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

Harry started school before Dudley did, but not because Aunt Petunia thought he was smarter or more capable—but because at age three he was entitled to five two and half hour sessions a week at the local nursery school for free, and she wanted him out of the house.

The teacher, Miss Jacoby, knelt down to greet Harry when Aunt Petunia pushed him into the class, smiling. "Hello…Harry," she said, her smile faltering mid-sentence as she caught herself staring into the most unnaturally green eyes she had ever seen. "My, what bright eyes you have!"

He started to smile shyly, but said nothing. "I'll pick him up in two and a half hours," Petunia said curtly before she turned and left the boy. Ms Jacoby frowned a little at the woman's abrupt manner before looking back down at Harry, who was peering about the room with interest. Other kids were playing in their centres—the girls around the kitchen, the boys and a few other girls at the blocks.

The other kids ignored him, absorbed as they were in their own games, and he simply stood as if frozen, staring at them. "Harry," Jacoby asked, "would you like to play at a centre?"

He shook his head.

"Well, at least let me show you around?" She offered her hand; he stared at it for the longest time as if it would strike him, before he slowly reached up to place his small hand in hers. Miss Jacoby tried to hide her startled jerk as the almost hot, electrical feeling of his hand settled in hers. It took every ounce of restraint she had to keep from jerking her hand away from him. After the initial shock wore off, she looked down to see him staring up at her with those impossible eyes, weeping without a sound.

Alarmed, she knelt down beside him and said, "Are you alright, sweetie?"

How could a three-year-old, even a witch-born, explain how wonderful it was to have anyone actually hold his hand after a year and a half of isolation? The only way he knew how was to rush forward and hug her. Miss Jacoby felt as if she were being electrocuted, but again she consciously fought against her initial reaction and after a moment, the shocking feeling changed from one bordering on pain to a wonderful, soothing warmth unlike anything she ever felt before, and she found herself not just returning the hug, but actually lifting the small boy in her arms. She carried him on and off for the rest of the day, allowing her assistants to handle the other kids for the two and a half hours she had him.

When Petunia Dursley returned with her large, blonde-haired boy in tow, she seemed surprised and even alarmed when she saw Miss Jacoby holding Harry.

The next day, when Harry did not return, Miss Jacoby made an inquiry with the front office and learned that Harry's guardian had transferred him to a different school. The teacher of four years could not understand why the news made her eyes water, or her heart sink.

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

Harry and Dudley started Reception Year at the same time. Being relatives, the helpful school officials placed them in the same class, and almost immediately Dudley began informing his classmates that Harry Potter was a freak.

Soon enough, Harry knew beyond doubt that no one in the school liked him. Dudley's gang beat him up occasionally, but the beatings never lasted because Dudley's friends always felt uncomfortable when they kicked him, as if they were playing in a swimming pool during a lightning storm.

However, Dudley's gang was not the sole reason for Harry's isolation in school. No one talked to him because it was so distracting when he looked at them with those eyes of his. The green was brighter than it should have been for any normal person, as if somehow there was a light shining out from behind them. Even adults looked away from him after just a few moments.

Harry cried after that first day of school as he walked home (Aunt Petunia made him walk, though she gave Dudley a ride). He really thought that with a new year he could make friends—he so wanted to play with the other kids. His excitement at going made the reality all that much harder to bear. Just as he could not understand why they seemed not to like him, they could not understand that when he looked past them, he was actually seeing their very souls, and that he truly thought they were beautiful.

Though they were far too young to rationalize that, the other kids felt the instinctive fear that humans had always felt when faced with the eyes of a witch-born. When he asked to play with them the first few times, they refused and turned their backs on him, as much from fear as spite. Harry learned quickly to stop asking, and usually returned to his desk while the others played their games. The teacher watched, but when he looked at her, she looked away with a visible shudder and said nothing.

Dudley's gang did their utmost in school to ensure his isolation was complete, though even those attempts stopped altogether four weeks into school when Piers Polkiss cocked back his right foot for an especially strong kick against Harry one day, only for the entire school yard to hear a cringe-inducing snap when his foot struck Harry's back. The snap was followed a moment later by a blood-curdling scream as Piers fell to the ground, clutching a leg that was not only broken, but broken so badly, that a shard of bone stuck out clearly from his shin.

Dudley and the other gang members backed away in horror, while Harry picked himself, scuffed but otherwise unharmed. He walked closer to Piers and stared down at the bloody, broken leg.

"I hope it hurts," he whispered.

"You freak!" Polkiss screamed through his tears.

Harry shrugged and walked away; Dudley's friends backed out of his way to let him go, and that was the last of the beatings he got at school. Soon word spread, and the other kids became even more frightened. Harry Potter was truly, undoubtedly, a freak.

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

By Year 1, Harry no longer tried to make friends, even with the new kids. They learned quickly enough to leave the freak alone. Instead, he read his books and spoke with the animals that would occasionally come visit—ravens or large striped cats, mainly, although he also met several friendly garden snakes.

He made sure not to speak to his animal friends where anyone could see him, since he knew the other kids would not understand. Over time he gained a reputation of someone who liked to lurk in corners and shun human company. The fact that it was the other way around made no difference to the end result of Harry being alone. At least he was able to eat more at school.

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

Near the end of that first year of school, Harry sat in his customary place on the edge of the school yard when a stranger stepped through the gate of the playground and started striding across the grounds.

To seven year-old Harry, the man looked tall and gaunt, though he was actually not much taller than Ms Chattara, the minder for that recess. He wore a long, odd black shirt that hung to his knees, and black trousers under that. His hair was thin, but his eyes gleamed with a terrible, brown light, as if he had flashlights behind his eyes. More than that, though, his chest gleamed with an odd, watery…something. Harry wasn't sure if he was seeing something inside the man, or feeling something, but the man felt dark, damp and cold despite the warmth of the day.

He pulled out a knife as long as Harry's arm as he walked, his burning eyes locked on Harry's.

Harry stood up and backed up a step, only for his back to come against the gate. He tried to call for Ms Chattara, but his voice came out only as a terrified, closed off croak. The man moved closer, and hefted the knife in his hand. Harry desperately looked about the school yard, desperate for someone—anyone—to notice what was happening.

The man growled like an animal as he rushed forward, only to stop a foot from Harry. His eyes widened, and within the coil of cold blue that resided in his chest, a spark of bright red appeared. He gurgled and dropped the knife—it fell with a dull thud against the packed dirt of the play area.

The red in his chest expanded rapidly, until it became a raging flame that boiled away the wet. The man reared his head back and tried to scream, but only a gurgle came out, before his entire body burst into flames. A moment later, a cloud of ash floated gently to the dirt.

Harry took a deep, stunned breath. Around him, kids continued to play as if nothing had happened at all. He jumped again when two people appeared from the air with a pair of _Pops_, both wearing red robes.

"Blimey, is that…?" a youngish woman said.

"Aye," the man said. It was, in fact, the ugliest man Harry had ever seen, with a strangely spinning false eye and scars enough for twenty faces, much less just the one. "The headmaster knows his blood wards, I'll give him that. Go on now, Emmy. I'll take care of the lad."

The woman removed a stick and waved it around the cloud of ash. It rose up into the air, collected itself into a ball, and disappeared into a large glass phial. She disappeared as quickly as she came.

The ugly man knelt down in front of Harry with a grunt. "What did you see, lad?"

"A man with _wet_ in his chest had…had…a knife," Harry stuttered.

The ugly man grabbed the knife from the ground, nodded to himself, and tucked it into his odd red cloak. "Right scary, I bet. But don't worry lad, you won't remember it. Promise.'

"What do you mean?"

"_Obliviate!"_

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

On Dudley's ninth birthday, Aunt Petunia walked Harry across the street by the sleeve of his shirt to make sure she did not touch him. With a sharp rap on the door, Petunia stepped back and waited impatiently.

The door opened to reveal a wide-faced woman of indeterminate age dressed in a terry-cloth robe. Her mousy brown hair was done up in rollers. "Yes?"

"Ms Arabella Figg?" Petunia asked. Without waiting for affirmation, she said, "I understand from the neighbours that you are agreeable to watching children for a fee?"

"Well, yes," Figg said, smiling suddenly. "I love children, but unfortunately I never…"

"I'd like you to watch my nephew for the day. Will thirty pounds be sufficient?"

"Well, I do normally charge…"

"Forty then," Petunia snapped.

"That would be fine," Arabella said, giving up all pretence at trying to speak.

"Thank you," Petunia said, shoving two twenty pound notes over before she turned and walked away.

"Well, what a pleasant woman," Arabella said in a conversational tone. "Might as well come in, Harry."

"She never said my name," Harry said.

"No, but I've heard of you from the neighbours," she smiled.

He stepped in and paused just inside. "What's wrong with your chest?"

Blinking, she pulled her robe tighter. "Pardon?"

"Do you have a light in there? It looks like something's trying to shine through, like a light in a paper bag."

Arabella chuckled. "No, lad, just my undershirt. I wasn't expecting company. Have a seat—you're welcome to watch the telly if you want. I need to finish getting ready."

When she returned half an hour later, Harry was on his stomach in the middle of the floor playing with what he thought were cats. Arabella kept half a dozen of the creatures, who were family to her. She was about to warn him to be gentle with them when he turned and _meowed_ at one of the kittens who was trying to claw her way up the side of Arabella's second-hand sofa. It was a shockingly realistic sound.

More shocking still, the kitten's mother came running from the kitchen and caught the kitten by the scruff of her neck, with which she carried her to Harry, deposited her, and returned to her milk in the kitchen. With a sly smile, Arabella stepped out of the hall and said, "What was Percival doing?"

"That was Morgana," Harry said without missing a beat. He pointed to another kitten and said, "That's Percival, though he doesn't like the name. He'd rather be Rufus."

"Rufus?"

"He says he heard it in a show or song. Kind of hard to tell."

"I never knew kneazles were so talkative," Arabella said.

Harry looked up at her with narrow, suspicious eyes. "You think I'm lying."

"No, I know for a fact that kneazles are much more intelligent than normal housecats. They can sometimes even understand what I'm saying, though I believe it is more in terms of tone and body language than words. I don't speak kneazle, you know."

"I've never heard of that breed of cat before," he said, relaxing a little because of her tone. "I read about cats in the library."

"It's a unique breed," she said with a reassuring smile as she settled into the sofa, "and not widely talked about. Do you think you could ask Samantha to come sit with me? She warms my lap quite nicely."

Harry meowed, and the mother kneazle walked back in at a more sedate pace than before, hopped up onto Arabella's lap, and curled into a warm, purring ball of contentment. "Thank you, Harry," she said. "Would you like to see something interesting?"

"Sure," Harry said, pushing himself up to his knees.

"Well, on the console table there in front of you is a porcelain box. Within the box is a crystal that you might like to look at. It's really quite extraordinary."

Shrugging, Harry opened the box, reached in and pulled out a golf-ball-sized polished crystal. "Hey, there's something inside it!" Harry said excitedly. He peered deep into the crystal, his tongue sticking out as he concentrated.

Although he could not see it, the air around his head shimmered before taking on a faint glow, as if he were surrounded in a halo of golden mist. Harry's eyes dilated so wide his irises looked black, and his jaw hung slack.

"Harry, do you ever have odd dreams?" she asked, still in a conversational tone.

"Yes." His voice was distant and low, as if he were on the verge of sleep.

"What do you dream about?"

"A bad man came to my school last year. He had a knife in his hand and was going to hurt me with it."

"What happened?"

"He burned up."

Arabella nodded. "What else do you dream of?"

"A girl."

"Oh? What does she look like?"

"I don't know. I never see her face. All I ever see is a weird shape."

"Describe it, please."

"Crescent facing left, circle, crescent facing right," Harry said.

"How do you know it's a girl?" Arabella asked, fighting now to maintain her calm tone.

"She's holding my hand. We're running from something."

"Do you know what?"

"No."

Arabella nodded. "Do you dream of anything else?"

"Green light … and a voice saying 'No, not Harry.'"

Arabella tensed. "Tell me, Harry, does the voice sound frightened?"

"No, or not really, I guess. She sounds determined, I think. Strong. She talks to me, sometimes at night, when I'm sad or lonely. She's my angel. She holds back the Green Light."

"Yes, she does," Arabella whispered just to herself. "Harry, when I count to three, you're going to wake up and not remember any of what we talked about. One, two, three."

The light in the stone went out. Harry blinked, closed his mouth, and rubbed his eyes. "Huh, I was wrong, there's nothing in it. Guess it's just a crack. Very pretty, though. Thanks for showing me."

"You're welcome," Arabella said. "Now, what would you like to watch?"

Later that night—much later than Arabella thought appropriate—Petunia knocked on the door to take the sleepy Harry back home. When he was gone, Arabella closed the door and walked back into her living room. She lit a fire despite the warm summer weather, and when it was going strongly threw blue power into the flame. Kneeling down, she stuck her head into the resulting green fire.

Through the wall of green flame she saw a figure silhouetted against a bright light. "He has visions. He saw a girl, but instead of her face, he saw the three-phased moon. He also has memories of the last attack on his school, despite Alastor's _obliviation_ attempt."

The silhouette said nothing at first, until, with a magically altered voice, it said, "Do you think the child is an Aether?"

"Yes," Arabella said. "I think he saw my magic despite my charmed camisole. He set the crystal ablaze—he's just as powerful as _she _said he would be."

The silhouette said, "Everything else she said has come true, why not this? It just confirms our plans. Keep watching him, and let me know if those wards change in any way."

"I will," Arabella promised.

She pulled back out of the fireplace and sighed. _Poor, poor Harry Potter_.

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**Author's Note**: Very special thanks to Teufel1987, JR and Miles for additional beta reading. They were kind enough (and masochistic enough) to agree to beta read yet another of my fics. Feel free to check out Teufel's profile for his own stories!


	2. The Witches

A/N: Chap 1 Review Responses are available in my forums. I also expanded a little more on my summary, which by my own admission is a little misleading since it was difficult to sum this fic up in one little blurb. THis and the next chapter will contain quite a bit of information.

Thanks for reading.

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**Chapter Two: The Witches**

On Harry Potter's eleventh birthday, two strange women appeared in Little Whinging. Both wore business attire and appeared at first glance to be in their mid-forties, although on second glance it was more difficult to pin down their exact ages. Their black dresses were cut in the height of business fashion, albeit the fashion in 1952, and both wore rather large, unusual pointed black hats.

Mrs Pettis, who was watching the street at the time, could not have said exactly where the women came from. One moment they were not there, the next they were. However, her thoughts refused to dwell on the strange nature of their sudden appearance in the neighbourhood and she was seized by a profound urge to go do the sheets.

When Petunia Dursley opened the door after several insistent knocks, she cried out in terror and tried to slam it shut immediately. However, the door stopped mid-swing despite all the strength Petunia put in into it, and gradually it opened all the way again.

"Hello again, Petunia," one of the women said. "It has been many years."

"You haven't changed at all!" Petunia stuttered, covering her mouth with her hand. "It's been twenty-five years, and you haven't aged a day!"

"Don't be silly. Of course I've aged," Professor Minerva McGonagall said with dismissive sniff, "I just carry the years better than most. This is Mafalda Hopkirk of the Ministry of Magic. We are here to do Harry's physical examination in preparation for his attendance at Hogwarts."

"He's not going!" Petunia shouted.

"Of course he is, child," McGonagall said, again with a sniff—this time of disdain. "You never could understand, could you? It is not just for Harry's sake that he is going to attend Hogwarts —it is for your protection as well. Bad things happen to Muggles around untrained witch-born, Petunia Dursley, or have your forgotten your own experiences? If I remember correctly, your mother survived only because of my timely arrival."

"Get out!" It was less an order than it was a prayer—a prayer all of them there knew would not come to pass.

"Mr Harry Potter!" Minerva called out. "Please come here."

The door to the cupboard under the stairs rattled. Both women looked from Petunia to the cupboard, where they saw three latches on the outside of the door, and then back to Petunia. Petunia was about to refuse and again ask them to leave when, without warning, everything about McGonagall changed.

Where before stood an attractive woman of indeterminate age now stood an alien creature with brightly lit grey-blue eyes that seemed to shine like searchlights. Her face narrowed and grew harsher, and her skin looked pale and translucent, like a sheet of paper held over a fluorescent light. Petunia cried out and took a step back, fighting back tears of terror.

"Release him," McGonagall said again in a voice that carried the ice of the tundra in its tone. Shaking, Petunia fumbled with the locks holding closed the cupboard with shaking fingers before she undid them enough to allow the boy out.

Harry scrambled to his feet, instantly on alert because of his aunt's distress. He froze when he saw the two women, especially McGonagall, and stared much like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming car. He did not see her translucent skin or gleaming eyes, he saw the maelstrom of fire in her chest that brought about a memory he didn't even realize he had.

"Mum," he breathed.

McGonagall froze, momentarily taken aback. "Nay, child," she said with the forced calm of a professional instructor, "Though I was honored to have her acquaintance for many years. My name is Minerva McGonagall. I was your mum's professor at her school. Come here, please."

He went, drawn like a moth to the flame. Petunia watched, flabbergasted, as Harry reached up without hesitation and placed a hand over McGonagall's left bosom. "You're real," he said, his face lighting up in a dazzled, astounded smile.

As much as she hated everyone in the room, Petunia could not help but gasp at her own dim memory—of her sister doing the same exact thing when she was eleven. McGonagall also seemed to be having the same memory as she took his hand gently from her bosom, more confused than upset.

"You should not touch women there, Mr Potter," McGonagall said, though not unkindly. "I believe it's safe to say, then, that you've never seen your own kind, have you?" she asked kindly.

Fighting back a sob, Harry said, "My kind?"

"Your kind," Mafalda Hopkirk said, speaking for the first time. Petunia this time was able to stifle her scream when she also changed, again with the oddly bright eyes, this time a shining brown. Her skin was not quite as translucent as McGonagall's, but was certainly paler than normal.

Harry let his hand fall from McGonagall and reached up to touch Hopkirk, only for her to intercept his hand. She simply patted it before letting it all back to his side. "As Professor McGonagall said, Mr Potter, you should not touch women there."

"Mafalda?" McGonagall asked the question in the name.

Hopkirk brandished her wand. Petunia watched in trembling silence as a blue aura surrounded the boy, only to begin to glow red. It was her guilty conscience as much as her memory that she recognized every spot of red as one of Harry's more serious injuries.

Hopkirk's face grew dim, while her eyes seemed to grow brighter. "This child has not been treated properly," she said. There was a dangerous echo in her voice, as if another spoke after her.

"The cupboard under the stairs was certainly an indication of such," McGonagall said. "How badly?"

"Chronic undernourishment and an array of injuries beyond what any child of his years should have. Not enough to say he was physically abused on a regular basis, but abuse did occur and most certainly his needs have been badly neglected."

"His magic?"

Rather than answer, Hopkirk frowned and flicked her wand. Harry, meanwhile, was staring at the woman with a puzzled frown. "Ma'am, what are you doing?"

"We're giving you a physical examination to see how you are, Mr Potter," McGonagall said. "We're using magic to do so."

"Magic?"

"Magic," Hopkirk said. "Something you seem to have more than your share of. Minerva, the boy is…quite strong, most especially given his circumstances. Those wards the Professor had to key us into must have been sustaining him, since with his chronic undernourishment he should be practically a Squib."

"They _were_ wards of universal protection, more powerful than anything else we could do," McGonagall said. "They would have to be, to warrant his staying with such…people." Harry was only newly turned eleven, but he was old enough to understand that when McGonagall said that word while looking at Petunia, "people" was a profound insult.

"Well," Hopkirk said with a satisfied nod, "he's certainly fit enough magically. I dare say he'll be a hit with the witches. Personally I don't see him making it past his fifth year before he's poached."

Harry fought a blush—he did not understand what she was talking about, but he knew poaching was not a good thing.

McGonagall nodded before turning her full attention to Petunia. She held out one hand, and to Harry's delight and astonishment, a scroll simply appeared in her palm. Petunia jumped at the sight.

"Petunia Dursley, you will sign this scroll providing your permission for Harry Potter to attend Hogwarts." It was not a question, but rather a firmly stated fact.

"And if I don't?" Petunia asked.

"What a silly question," McGonagall said, her voice dropping and the blue of her eyes flashing to a cold, iron grey, once again channelling the tundra.

With trembling fingers, Petunia took the offered quill and began to sign before yelping in pain and surprise. She glared at the back of her hand, and then at McGonagall. "A blood quill," the professor explained with certain smugness. "Surely you remember your father signing for Harry's mother? Now finish signing, if you will."

With pursed lips and pale cheeks, Petunia finished signing the scroll. It disappeared with a pop while Petunia rubbed the back of her hand painfully.

"In one week's time, a colleague of mine shall be returning to gather Harry for an orientation for Muggleborn and raised students," McGonagall said. "At that time, I expect that he shall have been living for the past week in a proper bedroom, with a proper bed. I expect that he shall have been given three square meals a day. Further, I expect that he shall not bear any further harm, nor will he have been subjected to any undo physical hardship. If my expectations are not met, then I will not hesitate a moment to rip your very mind apart and rebuild it from scratch to serve no other purpose in life than to protect and cherish Harry Potter, even at the expense of your own family. For Lily's sake, if not for Harry's, I shall not have you mistreat this boy any further. Remember Dumbledore's letter and do as you are required, or face the consequence."

"I don't understand," Harry finally said. "What's going on?"

McGonagall turned her attention from Petunia to Harry, kneeling down with a smile. "Harry, you are a wizard, like your father before you. Your mother was a witch, just like I am. And on the first of September, you will be attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, just like your parents did. You will be among your own kind—children just like yourself. You will get to meet some, in fact, next weekend when I conduct your orientation. You're not alone, Harry. That much I promise."

"Not alone?" Harry asked. His voice cracked as he peered up at the witch, eyes shining brilliantly.

"Never again, child," McGonagall said. "Never again. I know you have questions, but I must ask you to hold onto those questions for one more week." She stood and looked coolly at Petunia. "See that my expectations are met, and upon Mr Potter's seventeenth birthday, all ills will be forgotten."

Suddenly, both women disappeared with pops of displaced air, making both Harry and Petunia jump in surprise. "Aunt Petunia, was my mum really…a witch?

Petunia screamed—an expression of rage and hopelessness that left Harry stunned. A moment later, Dudley came barrelling into the room. "What's all this, then?" he demanded. "What's the freak done, Mummy?"

"Dudley," Petunia said, grinding the words out as if they were the most difficult sounds she had ever made, "go upstairs and clean out your second bedroom. Do it now."

"What for?" Dudley demanded, turning red like his father did when upset.

"Because your cousin is going to have his own room," Petunia said.

"Like Dad will go for that," Dudley said belligerently.

"Do it, now," Petunia yelled.

"Dad will give the room back, you'll see!"

He ran upstairs in a huff, leaving a stunned Harry by his aunt.

"Get away from me," Petunia finally said. "You'll get your room, and you'll get your food, but don't think for a moment that you'll ever be a member of this family!"

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

The next Saturday, Harry sat on the edge of the second-hand bed with a cheap foam mattress he had slept in for the past week. He was dressed in a pair of worn but intact jeans and a jumper from the local thrift store, but did not mind at all. They were the first clothes he had owned in his memory that actually fit.

The room was all but barren, save for a hastily repaired desk and chair—again from the thrift shop—and a cheap bookshelf from the local ASDA that held his old school books and whatever books he was able to obtain whenever the local book store threw away the old, unsellable books to make room for new stock. Most did not have covers, but he did not care.

On the rickety stool that served as his nightstand sat an old Bagpuss clock, with the digital numbers set where the teeth of the pink and white cloth cat's mouth would have been. It reminded him of the Cheshire Cat from Alice in Wonderland, and gave Dudley a fright when he first saw it, which is why it now belonged to Harry. The time said it was nearly nine.

"Bagpuss, dear Bagpuss," Harry whispered, "Old fat furry cat-puss, wake up and look at this thing that I bring, wake up, be bright, be golden light. Bagpuss, oh hear what I sing. Please let them come. Please."

Almost the very moment the numbers switched from 8:59 to 9:00, a woman appeared in front of him with a pop of displaced air. It was not either of the women who came before—this woman was wide in build with a touch of grey to her curly hair, but it did not matter. She _glowed_ inside like the other women, so very much more than other people did. He could see the pulse of her magic centred around her heart, glowing and flowing with a brilliant red-brown light. He was on his feet before he was even aware of it and reaching for that light, only to have her hand gently take his.

"I know it's tempting to touch me, child," the woman said kindly, "but you must learn not to do that. Those of us trained to work with you understand, but not all witches will appreciate you fondling their breasts, now, will they?"

It took a moment for him to truly understand what she was saying, but when he did he felt his cheeks grow hot with embarrassment. "I'm sorry," he said quickly.

"Pish, child. As I said, I handle first year Muggleborns every other year, so I've been trained to handle the need for touching. My name is Professor Spout, and I'll be taking you to your orientation. Are you ready?"

"Yes, ma'am. Er, I mean, Professor."

"Very good, lad," Sprout said with a wide smile. "Hold on now, what we are doing is called apparition. It is a form of magical transport, but can be uncomfortable the first time. On the count of three, then. One, two, three…"

The world warped and squeezed down to the width of a tube of toothpaste, before squeezing Harry through to _another_ place, and he found himself in a different room facing several glowing children with normal adults and the professor who came a week ago—McGonagall.

"Ah, Mr Potter, very good," McGonagall said. To the other witch, she said with one arched brow, "Any problems, Pomona?"

"None at all, Minerva," Sprout said. "I dare say they met your expectations, if not a whit more than."

"Very good. Mr Potter, could you sit with the other students?"

Harry blinked, still trying to overcome not just the shock of travel, but the sight of children that looked just like he did. Well, not just like him. Four of the five facing him were girls—one with bushy hair and protruding front teeth, one with bright blonde hair that hung to her shoulders, one with dark hair like his, and a fourth girl with dark skin that spoke of a mixed parentage. The fifth was a tall, skinny boy with a mop of unruly brown hair. The girls wore nice dresses in bright, primary colors, while the boy wore black trousers and a pastel green button-down. However, what made Harry stand dumbstruck were the colors shifting and swirling around within them. The bushy-headed girl thrummed with a red, fiery light, as did the darker-skinned girl, only to a lesser extent. The tall, dark headed girl had a heavy, earthen brown to her core, while the blonde girl and the boy both seemed light and filled with clouds. Their eyes had the same back-lit effect his own did, though each to their own color. It was breathtakingly beautiful to Harry.

He could hear the adults talking, but he couldn't drag his eyes away from the kids in front of them. Their eyes had the same light in them his did, albeit like the colors within their eyes were different as well, mostly dark eyes except for the blonde girl with blue eyes. They were all staring back at him expectantly, and slowly he took a step forward.

"Hi," he said awkwardly.

"Hi!" the girl with bushy hair and electric brown eyes said brightly. "I'm Hermione Granger." She pointed to the chocolate-colored girl. "This is Deanna Thomas, and that's Justine Finch-Fletchley." The tall girl smiled shyly. "The blonde girl is Terri Boot, and…"

"Kevin Entwhistle," the boy said before Hermione could finish.

"Yes, well, hello," Hermione said. "And you're…"

"Harry Potter," Harry said.

Hermione smiled and held out her hand; behind her smile he could see the colors in her chest jump and bubble, and behind her eyes he saw a shadow. _She was afraid he would not shake her hand._

Though it happened when he was young, he remembered the one time in his youth when a stranger took his hand and did not pull away. Smiling weakly, he reached up and took her hand in his, and the two froze as the air sparked around their hands.

Hermione's eyes widened to large ovals while her lips parted to form a soft "_Oh_". Justine stood quickly, concerned, until she too stood close to Harry. Her own eyes widened a little, and without hesitation she reached up and rubbed his arm.

"Wow," she said.

"I know," Hermione said.

For Harry's part, he could not even begin to describe the sensation of their touch. He continued holding Hermione's hand as what felt like an electric current ran between them, while Justine's touch caused tickling electric sparks on his other hand. Curious, the dark-skinned girl named Deanna came around Justine and rubbed his shoulder.

"That's nice," she said with a happy grin. "That's really nice."

Harry saw their colors bubbling again, but this time it appeared happier. Caught up in the shock of so much touch, he felt suddenly dizzy and happier than he could ever remember. He reached up and rubbed the ball of color in Hermione's chest, completely forgetting what Professor Sprout said.

Hermione did not mind—she closed her eyes and swayed, while under his touch the bubbling colors soothed and actually went from a bright, white-red to a calm pink. He turned to Justine and did the same, and her boiling earthen tones also calmed.

Suddenly new hands were on his shoulders—hands that did not spark or send electric warmth through him. The spell with the girls broke abruptly, and all of them jerked and opened their eyes in surprise at the sudden disconnect, only to see Professor McGonagall holding Harry's shoulders in her hands, leaning over his left to look to the girls.

"Mr Potter, what did I say?" she said. She spoke softly, but firmly. "It is not appropriate to touch girls there."

"Er, sorry, Professor," Harry said. He and the girls all blushed equally.

"Yes, well, please be more mindful. I'm afraid the parents were not entirely happy with you."

Harry looked over his shoulder at the glowering parents and sat down quickly. He barely noticed Hermione and Justine sit on either side.

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

Calliope and Edwin Granger arrived at the appointed meeting place in the outskirts of London shortly before 9 a.m. with their daughter in the back seat. Hermione sat looking about attentively with those disconcertingly bright, brown eyes of hers, her mouth a thin line of barely repressed excitement. "There it is!" she shouted, pointing and bouncing a little in her seat.

They could not see anything but an unremarkable row of three two-story buildings, dilapidated and without any signs. "Which one, dear?" Calliope asked.

"The middle one," Hermione said. "Can't you see the sign? The one that says 'Hogwarts orientation'?"

They looked where she was pointing, but could see nothing at all, most especially not any sign. Still, the directions in the invitation McGonagall handed them were clear enough. They parked in a small lot next to the row of buildings beside two other cars and climbed out.

Hermione took her mother's hand, causing the hair on Calliope's arms to rise slightly. The charge of her daughter's touch had always frightened Calliope, and concerned Edwin. They often discussed taking Hermione in for tests to find out what caused it, but for reasons neither could really pin down, they never did.

However, the moment they turned the corner, Calliope gasped. From the center building, as bright as day, she saw a large marquee with black lettering announcing the Hogwarts Student Orientation.

"Edwin, did you see that before?" she asked.

"See what?" her husband asked.

"The sign."

"What sign?"

She let go of Hermione's hand to point, but the moment she lost contact the sign disappeared. "Oh," she said chagrined. "It must be…magic, I suppose. Hermione, dear, come back please."

Impatience plastered the girl's smile into a grimace as she came back. "Muu_uum_," she said, thrumming with the need to get inside. "Let's go!"

"Hermione, your father and I can't see the sign unless you hold our hands."

Hermione froze, then her eyes widened and she clapped her hands in delight. "It must be magical, then!" she said. She grabbed their hands, and Calliope saw her husband's eyes light up in surprise as the sign appeared right in front of them.

Despite the dilapidated outward appearance of the buildings, the interior was nicely appointed with plush settees, couches and chairs situated around a large round book table. There was a clear space in front of the table, and against the far wall were a row of six padded folding chairs. Already they saw four children sitting on the chairs, with seven adults already present.

"Welcome, welcome," the tall form of Professor McGonagall said. "We are so pleased you could make it. Edwin and Calliope Granger, please meet…" She began to introduce them to the other adults. Calliope smiled and nodded at the appropriate times, but her eyes were on her daughter and the three other children facing her.

Seeing the eyes of the other children with that same strange, back-lighting made gooseflesh ripple down Calliope Granger's spine. It was a realization deep within her that Hermione was not unique; but more than that, she was a part of something Calliope could not be. The other children sat silently looking back, just as Hermione stared at them.

The second woman—witch, Calliope reminded herself—came and guided the Grangers to a sofa while Professor McGonagall guided Hermione to one of the chairs. Hermione sat, and as was her wont, immediately started talking to the other children. Usually what would happen next would be the children staring at her strangely, shuddering and then either turning their backs on her, or for the more aggressive ones, telling her pointedly to go away. After that would come the tears and depressed loneliness. They went through it every single year at school, until even Calliope wondered whether her daughter had amazing strength of character, or was just astoundingly stubborn that she continued to try.

Only, this time the children responded enthusiastically, smiling and shaking her hand and even laughing a little at the touch. "Ed, look," she whispered.

"I see," he assured her. He took her hand and the two sat down.

A moment later a third witch appeared with a pop that made the other adults in the room jump in surprise. On her arm clung a skinny, short boy with shaggy black hair and the most startling green eyes she'd ever seen. Even compared to the other strange children, he looked a little strange.

Calliope didn't listen to the odd exchange between the witches; instead she watched as her daughter greeted the boy. Like with the other children, the newcomer did not reject her like any normal child would. Instead, he took her hand and shook it.

And that's when Hermione's cheeks turned bright red and her lips parted. A moment later a second of the girls stood and started rubbing his shoulder as if he were a cat. She felt her husband's hand tighten on hers, though, when the boy just plain as day reached up and rubbed their daughter's chest!

"What is he doing?" Edwin barked out, unable to contain himself.

Remarkably, the students didn't even notice. The three witches turned to see what was happening just as the newcomer next rubbed the chest of the taller girl. "Justine!" the girl's expensively-dressed mother said, aghast.

The tall professor—Professor McGonagall—stepped to the boy while the other two—Hopkirk and Sprout, shared a long, knowing look. Hopkirk turned to look first at the woman in the mink fur coat and then Edwin, before smiling calmly. "What you are witnessing is not unusual for Muggleborn children," she explained. "Mr Potter most certainly did not mean anything inappropriate, nor did the girls when they returned his touch. Indeed, it has to do with their perception of themselves, their magic, and the world at large. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why you are here today. As difficult as it may be to accept, we are not like you, and neither are your children."

Though delivered in a calm, measured voice, the words felt like blows to Calliope. She reared back even as the boy sat down between a still furiously blushing Hermione and the taller girl whose elegantly dressed mother called her Justine.

_We are not like you._ The words rang hatefully in Calliope's ears, while the undeniable truth of it sat looking at her with shining brown eyes.

* * *

sp

**Author's Note**: Very special thanks to Teufel1987, JR and Miles for beta reading. They were kind enough (and masochistic enough) to agree to beta read yet another of my fics.


	3. Not Like You

A/N: Chapter two review responses are available in my forums. This chapter is a bit of an info-dump, but it was a necessary thing.

* * *

**Chapter Three: Not Like You**

"Mr and Mrs Granger, Mrs Finch-Fletchley, what you witnessed is a process we call Social Alignment," Professor McGonagall said, "and is a unique aspect of our work with students who are not raised among magical families. Muggleborn and the occasional Muggle-raised students are quite often overwhelmed not only by the realization that they are not alone, but also by the first physical contact they have with another magical being." McGonagall's lips quirked. "I believe all of you are familiar with a slight discomfort whenever you hold or touch your child? I have heard it described as a mild electric shock."

Even Calliope was forced to nod, as were the other parents.

"Although I'm sure all of you force your way through that first electric moment to the pleasant feeling that follows with prolonged contact with magical children, very, very few non-family members are willing to do that. What you feel is their magic attempting to form an emotional bond with you. Touch means a great deal to magical children—our magic informs and strengthens our emotions, and vice versa. That's why for those of you who persevere through that first discomfort, the feeling becomes pleasurable afterward.

"As a result of this quirk of magic, most Muggleborn children grow up with a type of social isolation that is hard for you as their parents to wholly appreciate. When that isolation ends, the children are often euphoric. Mr Potter was not attempting any inappropriate contact—in point of fact he did the same to me when he first saw me."

"So are all the boys at that school of yours going to go around groping girls?" Justine Finch-Fletchley's mother asked sharply.

"I dare say not!" McGonagall said. "The process lasts usually no more than a week or two before they recover their senses and return to normal modes of behavior. In addition, one of the aspects of Hogwarts life is to acclimatize all magical children to magical society as a whole. Consequently the school very strictly separates the sexes for most classes in their first three years."

"That's what I don't understand," Mrs Finch-Fletchley said. She wore a diamond ring worth as much as Calliope's auto. "Why do you have a separate society in the first place? Why the secrecy?"

Everyone jumped in their seats when all three witches suddenly changed before their eyes. Where before stood three perfectly ordinary women now stood three otherworldly creatures with gleaming eyes and pale skin like right out of a bad fantasy novel. McGonagall and Sprout looked almost translucent, as if lit from within, while Hopkirk merely appeared pale.

A moment later they returned to their normal appearance. "What you are looking at right now, when you see us as the same as yourselves, are called Veils. It is a magical glamour that hides our true appearance. We wear them among you because of the reaction you all just demonstrated. To you, witch-born are frightening. Right now the most telling aspects of your children's heritage are their eyes. But as they get older, their skin will begin to pale as their magical cores expand. The luminescence of a witch or wizard's skin is dependent upon their innate magical power and age. For instance, I am one hundred and twenty two. Professor Sprout is ninety-four. Young Mafalda here is only sixty. Headmaster Albus Dumbledore is two hundred and twenty eight. He was born in 1763, six years before Napoleon Bonaparte."

Calliope was fighting not to hyperventilate. "Will Hermione live…?"

"She might," McGonagall said. "Although we are immune from your diseases, there are magical diseases which we cannot cure. And just like you, our society occasionally suffers from conflict, prejudice and violence. But back to the original question of why we are separate—the truth is that your people have always feared and hated us. We not only look different, but we truly are different. In the ancient days of Rome it was not unusual for witch-born to be smashed against the stones of the Tiber River. In Germany witch born were hung in cradles at the top of the trees until they died of exposure, which I believe is the source of a popular Muggle nursery rhyme. The Christianization of Briton resulted in the execution of an estimated five thousand witch-born. While some adult wizards were able to interact in a limited fashion with the Muggle community, we have never been allowed to live freely until we banded together and forced the two worlds apart."

"Why don't you wear this Veil all the time, then?" Mr Fletchley, the husband of the immaculately dressed Mrs Finch-Fletchley, asked.

"Because it is, to be blunt, uncomfortable," McGonagall said. "And you should keep that in mind, because when you see your children over the winter holiday, they will know the Veil spell and will be expected to wear it whenever out of the home. In fact, the Veil is the only magic that they will be permitted to perform at home."

"I have a question," Daniel Entwhistle said in a very belligerent tone. "What if I don't believe in any of this, and don't want my son going to that blasted school of yours?"

"I'm glad you asked," McGonagall said with a smile that made Calliope somewhat nervous. "The question comes up at least once every year or so. Madam Hopkirk will answer as a representative of the Ministry of Magic."

The smaller, younger woman drew herself up and said an officious tone, "Attendance at Hogwarts is compulsory for all Muggleborn children. Failure to abide by the law will result in the magical child being taken into custody and placed with a foster magical family, and all memory of that child being removed from the offending parent. In essence, it would be as if your son never existed in your life."

Calliope tried to catch her breath at that chilling statement. _Would they take Hermione away?_

McGonagall viewed the adults with pursed lips. "I see you all realize just what that means. If it sounds drastic, it truly is. Now let me tell you a story to illustrate why. Some years ago, I had the honor to contact a student named Lily. She was a beautiful, powerful young witch, born into a normal family not so dissimilar to yours. She had a sister and two loving parents, but she was also what was known as an Aether, with a natural inclination to mind and soul magics, as well as fire. After I left from our first meeting, evidently the older sister took exception to Lily's status as a witch, and the two fought quite viciously. Their mother tried to break the conflict up when Lily, in a fit of very normal childish anger, unleashed accidental magic. Her sister suffered seven broken bones and burns over seventy percent of her body, as well as an aneurism in her brain due to the pain caused by her sister. Her mother was killed instantly."

Calliope found herself hyperventilating again.

"Fortunately," McGonagall continued, "I was still close by and was able to revive the mother and heal the sister, but even with the best healing magic Lily's mother never fully recovered. She had to use a cane for the rest of her life, and to this very day the sister blames Lily for their parent's early demise and the pain she suffered. It sounds terrible, and like something that could never happen to you, doesn't it?"

"A Muggleborn accidently killed her mother with magic just last year," Hopkirk said in a grim tone.

"Summer before that, three children—one magical and two non-magical step-siblings—all died in a burst of accidental magic," Professor Sprout said.

"We cannot stress enough to you, ladies and gentlemen, that untrained magic is deadly—both to you and to the child," McGonagall said. "For that reason, there is no negotiation; there is no refusal. ALL magical children are required to attend Hogwarts until at least the completion of their basic competency levels, called Ordinary Wizarding Levels, or O.W.L.s. Any attempt to interfere with the education of a magical child carries with it drastic consequences. If after the O.W.L.s a magical child wishes to leave Hogwarts or the magical world entirely, they may do so, but their magic will be permanently bound and their Veils permanently affixed, both of which are exceedingly painful, for the remainder of that witch's or wizard's life."

"If you're so different," Calliope asked despite her fear, "how can our children possibly be like you? I mean genetics do not work that way!"

"Genetically, you and I are not dissimilar," Hopkirk answered. "I am human in the sense your scientists would define me. However, where you are Homo Sapiens, we are a parallel branch called Homo Magi—the specific difference is that our bodies have a unique structure in the marrow of our bones that create energy which we call magic. In years to come, that name may change, but historically it has always been called such. This power gradually changes our bodies until, by after forty, we are no longer genetically compatible with to you. A wizard of eighty could not produce offspring with a Muggle woman, whereas a wizard of thirty could. Muggle-born children are the result of such unions."

Beside her, Edwin stiffened. "Could you clarify that point, please?" he asked, coldly.

"Actually I can, using you and your lovely wife as an example," Mafalda said with a soothing smile. "Mrs Granger, you are the second-generation offspring of a Squib named Susan Bartleby. Ms Bartleby was born with a disorder that prevented her from being able to access, even accidently, her magic. People with this condition are colloquially known as Squibs, and find it difficult to live in the Magical World. Most voluntarily take on a permanent Veil and choose to live in the Muggle world. Ms Bartleby married a handsome young man named Jacob Darling, who had a daughter named Margaret, who had you. You, Mr Granger, are in fact a great, great, great grandson of another Squib named Constance Stanton. Your daughter was born magical because both of you carried a magical gene, and any other girls you might have been able to produce would also be magical."

"Why only girls?"

"Statistics, Mr Granger," McGonagall said. "Mr Entwhistle here is an exception you very rarely see. His mother was an actual witch, while you, Mr Entwhistle, also carry the dormant gene."

"How could you know that?" Entwhistle said. "She left me almost as soon as Kevin was born!"

"We know because we can trace the magic much like your scientists can use genes to test paternity," the professor said.

"So do you know where Emily is?"

The three witches shared a knowing look. "Sadly, Mr Entwhistle," McGonagall said, "your wife was killed in the same conflict that cost Mr Potter here his parents. I know it is of little consolation, but she most likely left to protect you, and likely gave her life doing the same. Our world was in a state of terrible conflict ten years ago, and many suffered as a result."

Calliope looked across the room at the stricken man. "I don't mean to be insensitive, but I would like to know more about why my husband and I would only have girls."

"It is a function of fragility," the wide witch named Sprout said. "Male fetuses are extremely fragile to begin with, and magic is inherently unstable. Compounding this is the lack of stabilizing magic in your own body, and your inability to produce witch's milk, which is essential to baby wizards especially for the first three months of life. As a result, only one out of hundred Muggle-born wizard fetuses come to term, and of those, only one in a thousand survive their first three months, and usually then as a squib. When taking into account that our population is measured in thousands, you can imagine it simply doesn't happen. Mr Entwhistle, though raised by his Muggle father, was born of a witch, as was Mr Potter. Mr Entwhistle's mother did not leave until Kevin was at least six months, correct?"

Mr Entwhistle, shoulder's sagging, nodded.

"Even among magical families, there is a rather large gender disparity," Hopkirk continued. "There are generally two to three girls born for every boy, with some generations where that gap is widened further. This has had an impact on our society on many levels."

"We are, as a matter of necessity, polygynists—it is normal for a single wizard to have two or more wives," Hopkirk said. "For instance, I share a husband myself with a sister spouse. This aspect of our culture is driven by necessity, and has been as it is for over a thousand years. Our laws regarding marriage are crafted so as to ensure the protection and respect for all parties. In point of fact, our society is decidedly matriarchal. This is not a case of men controlling the system to appease baser instincts. To a certain extent the exact opposite is true."

"Witches carry a great deal of power in our society, more so than in yours," McGonagall said, picking up precisely where the younger witch stopped. "While individually wizards may be more powerful than witches, there are more of us. This has led to a level of equality in our society that has existed since the reign of Vortigern. Your daughters will have just as equal an opportunity to flourish and succeed as any wizard. But they may also find themselves in a plural marriage. Just remember that to us, such an arrangement is not immoral, but a good and necessary thing."

Calliope was shaking her head, while her husband leaned over and said, "That Potter boy looks like he's going to have a whole bloody harem, with our daughter in the lead."

Calliope looked and saw that, despite the professor's urging them not to touch, Hermione was holding the boy's right hand, while on his left, the girl named Justine was holding his other. All three were smiling with unfocused eyes, as if completely lost to their thoughts.

"Oh Hermione," she whispered sadly. "Have we already lost you?"

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

After a break of tea and biscuits, the parents gathered with their children and walked as a group to a room toward the back of the building, where they saw an unusually large fireplace.

"If I may have your attention," McGonagall said. "Thank you. Now, this morning we've discussed many aspects of magical life that your children, and through them yourselves, will be encountering. One of the most important aspects of magical life is our transportation methods. While it may sound somewhat stereotypical, we do in fact use flying brooms. However, that is not the preferred method of travel for most witches and wizards. Instead, most use either a method of teleportation known as Apparation, another method using magical devices called Portkeys, or the Floo network. In the absence of all those methods, we also have a public transport called the Knight Bus, though I would not recommend it."

She stepped back from the fireplace and flicked her wand. Instantly a large flame burst to life. A moment later she reached into a pouch along a roped belt at her waist and threw a handful blue powder into the flame while calling, "Diagon Alley!" It billowed green.

"While the flame is green, it will not burn or hurt anyone entering. Grangers and Thomas Family, would you please hold hands with Professor Sprout?"

"With me, now," the wide-bodied woman said as she and the two families linked hands. "On three, just walk toward the fireplace. It is wide enough for us all."

While the Grangers and Deanna's mother looked mortified at the thought of walking into fire, the two girls bounced with excitement. The rest watched in alarm and fascination as the six people walked toward the fire only to be enveloped by a billow of green before disappearing.

"Very good. Now, Entwhistles and Boots, please hold hands with Ms Hopkirk," McGonagall said. "Mr and Mrs Fletchley, Mr Potter, we will go together. Hold hands, now."

Harry took her left hand, while the Finch-Fletchley family hesitantly held each other's hands, and Mr Fletchley—a hard looking man of middle height—took her right hand.

"Well, are you ready?" The five of them stepped into the green fire, and instantly the whole world blurred into streaks of light. Harry heard voices speaking all around him so loud it made his ears throb. He spun and twisted in the air so fast his stomach heaved, and his brain throbbed with the pain of his passage.

An instant later he shot out of the fireplace like a rocket, screaming in alarm. He got a brief glimpse of wood and heard startled shouts before he slammed into something hard and painful. The sound of cracking wood accompanied the dull thud of his flesh striking it, and when at last he came to a stop, he rolled onto his side and vomited up everything he'd ever eaten.

"Mr Potter!" Professor McGonagall shouted.

Stunned and in pain, Harry heard his name picked up like an echo from other people. "That's Potter?" "Is it really him?" "I would have thought he'd have red hair."

"Mr Potter, are you quite alright?" McGonagall said.

Strong thin hands rolled him over. "Ow," he whispered. He then reached up and felt at his shattered glasses. "Oh no, my glasses!"

"_Oculus Reparo,_" McGonagall said.

Harry saw a blur of yellow and suddenly his glasses were whole again. "Are you otherwise hurt, Mr Potter?"

"Nothing broken, I think," Harry said. "What happened? Did it hurt that much for everyone?"

McGonagall knelt down beside him, paling as she did so. "Hurt, Mr Potter? The Floo hurt you?"

"It was so loud and bright!" Harry said. "Like I was getting hit the whole time. It was awful."

"Mr Potter, that just isn't…unless…"

"Unless what, Professor?"

"Well, the same thing happened to your mother, Lily, when she first travelled by Floo. But Lily was an Aether, and there are no wizard Aethers to my knowledge. I just can't…"

The professor blinked, clucked her tongue, and then said, "Mr Potter, when you look at me, what do you see in my chest?"

"Fire," Harry said without hesitation.

McGonagall paled even further. "And Professor Sprout?"

"Earth."

McGonagall stood, and then offered him a hand to help him up. Only then did he become aware of all the people around him staring. Most were wearing their Veils, but some were not, and the gleam of their interest was disconcerting.

"This way, Mr Potter," she said, leading him through the tables. He looked behind him and saw a trail of two broken tables and three chairs from where he had come flying out of the fireplace.

The other Muggleborns and their parents were gathered at the back, staring at him. He felt his cheeks flush brilliantly and tried to look at his feet when McGonagall joined them. As they got closer to the main group, he heard Mrs Granger asking why he flew out of the fire so violently when none of the rest did.

He strained to hear Sprout's answer clearly. "I'm not entirely sure, to be honest," Sprout said. "That reaction is not unusual for Aethers. Magic tends to lend itself toward elemental properties—this is true across all cultures and magical traditions. However, occasionally a witch is born with a leaning toward a fifth element, what the Classicals called the Aether, or spirit. The sorting we told you about, in fact, is based on a child's natural elemental inclination. Mr Potter's mum shot out like a cannon her first time. However, I don't understand why Mr Potter would have the same reaction since Aethers do not appear in the male portion of our population."

"I want to know how he went through all that furniture without breaking every bone in his body," another man said.

"That, Mr Fletchly, was an example of instinctive magic," Sprout answered. "Witch-born are physically very tough, in large part because of our magic is guided by a sense of self-preservation. For instance, our primary sport involves iron balls similar to a cannon ball which can impact children at speeds approaching fifty miles an hour or more. And yet even with direct blows, it is exceedingly rare for a player to receive injury."

"Now please note that the Leaky Cauldron is located on Charing Cross Road," Hopkirk said over the low conversation. "You may only see it when you are in physical contact with your child. This pub is the main entrance into the magical quarter of London. There are also magical alleys in Leeds and Edinburgh for which we will provide information at a later date. Magical alleys such as Diagon Alley are the only places in which you can obtain the materials your children will need for school. Each alley has a bank run by goblins called Gringotts—we will be visiting there first. I'm afraid the prices are rather steep converting your funds, but there is a form available at the bank to apply for financial aid. Since education is compulsory, those who are unable to afford it will be able to draw from a scholarship fund. Come with me, please…"

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

The Dursley family jumped in alarm when Harry Potter appeared in their living room with the tall, stern-faced Minerva McGonagall right in front of their television. The boy clutched a cage easily as large as his chest holding a massive, perfectly white owl, and a surprisingly small trunk at his feet.

"Good evening," McGonagall said in a clipped tone. "Mr Potter has successfully completed his orientation for Hogwarts. He is to arrive at King's Cross rail station at precisely 9 a.m. on the first of September. When he arrives, I expect him to have been fed three square meals a day from this point until then, to be wearing clean, fitted clothes, and to be in possession of everything you see before you, undamaged and whole. Additionally, I expect him to have suffered no form of physical or mental abuse. If any of these expectations are not met, well…let us say that you would not enjoy that day." She turned to Harry and nodded. "Mr Potter, it was a pleasure to meet you again. I look forward to seeing you at school."

"Thank you, Professor," Harry said earnestly.

With a curt nod, McGonagall disappeared with a loud pop that made the Dursleys all jump again. Harry stared at them and could feel them staring back. "Er, well, we already ate, so I'll just go up to my room then. Goodnight."

His relatives continued to stare at him blankly, especially Uncle Vernon, as Harry carried his trunk and his new owl, Hedwig, up the stairs to the littlest bedroom. He went inside, pulled off his clothes and shut the door, before he ran and jumped on his bed, burying his face in his pillow so he could scream without being heard.

Hedwig watched in concern, hooting softly, before Harry emerged from his pillow red-faced and grinning madly. "It's real, Hedwig!" he whispered so hard it came off as a strained, muffled shout. "It's all real. They're just like I am. I'm not alone, I'm really not alone! I'm not a freak, or if I am, I'm not the only one."

He cried tears of joy and relief as he spoke to his owl, who listened with the internal patience of a magical beast who could not understand human words, but perfectly understood tone and intention. Her master was happy, and so Hedwig was as well.

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

Hermione and her parents drove up to their spacious home in Steatham Hill after one of the most exhilarating, terrifying days any of them could remember. When Edwin Granger turned off the engine in their car park, none of them moved at first. The only sound was the kitten with the strange blue eyes—a kneazle, the shop owner called it—mewling for Hermione to lift her out of the cage.

"Those goblins were quite frightening," Hermione finally said. "I daresay I'd never want to steal anything from _that_ bank ever."

"They did seem rather…abrupt," Edwin said, still too startled and disconcerted to risk speaking honestly about this new world they found themselves in. "And that conversion rate—it is difficult to believe they still use gold."

His wife stared at him for the longest time before chuckling. "Edwin, dear, you are so…I love you, but after learning our daughter is a witch, that magic exists and that a whole world of witches and wizards exists around us, are you really only amazed by the fact they are on the gold standard?"

In the back seat, Hermione began to giggle.

"Right, let's be on our way, then," he said, trying to dig himself out of the hole he suddenly found himself in.

They carried Hermione's school trunk into the house while she carried her kneazle, whom she affectionately called Crookshanks because of its already long, shaggy orange fur. Once they were inside, Edwin pulled out a pudding they made that morning in anticipation of the day, and quickly doled out servings. Hermione sat at the bar, grinning happily while sucking the pudding from her spoon, while her parents looked on with pensive half-smiles.

"So, did you and that Potter boy have a nice talk?" Edwin finally asked carefully.

Hermione nodded enthusiastically as she took another bite. "He lives in Surrey. His aunt and uncle don't sound very nice, but he said Professor McGonagall put them to rights. Now he has real clothes that fit, and they're letting him eat, and they even gave him a bedroom with a real bed in it. He's read a lot of books, too. He likes Roald Dahl and Enid Blyton. He said he's never read Tolkien, except a bit of the Hobbit since his copy was burned a little. He named his owl Hedwig, isn't that a funny name? Justine said he was a lot nicer than Ernie and I'm inclined to agree, that MacMillan boy was a little rude, don't you think? And he didn't feel half as nice to shake hands with as Harry did, and Deanna said so too, and Terri too. He could see the magic in Gringotts, isn't that amazing? He said the walls were red with magic, and it felt scary, like if you did anything the goblins didn't like, the magic would hurt you. And did you see those books about him? Or the way other people whispered in the bookstore when they found out it was him? He's quite famous, you know. I realize now that I think of it that the story Professor McGonagall told about Lily must have been about his mum because her name was Lily too. His aunt and uncle always told him his Mum and Dad died in a car crash, but now he knows they were killed by that dark wizard no one mentions. That must have been a really scary time, I'm glad I wasn't there. Poor, poor boy. I bet he misses his Mum and Dad. I can't imagine what I would do if anything happened to you. And did you feel how wonderful he felt? It was like standing in front of the heater vent in winter or snuggling with your favorite blanky or…I can't even think of the word for it. And when he touched me…oooh, if felt so wonderful. If I were like Crookshanks then I'm sure I would have purred. It was like he was touching my soul, and it was so wonderful. I miss him already, I just wish they didn't make us sleep in separate dorms then I could…"

She stopped, her cheeks turning pink as she looked up at her gaping parents. "Er, I didn't just say what I think I said, did I?"

"Frankly, dear, you said so much I'm still playing catch-up," Calliope said. "But it did sound very much like you were suggesting you would want to go to his dorm room."

Her cheeks flared again. "I…would never do anything like that, of course," she finally said.

"From what it sounds like, you couldn't even if you wanted to," Edwin said. "But I have to admit, I have this strange urge to go find and strangle the boy."

Hermione's eyes widened as she dropped her spoon with a loud clang. "Daddy, you wouldn't!"

"No, he wouldn't," Calliope said. "Remember what they told us, Edwin. It's just part of the acclimation process. It's a big step, you know, discovering they're not alone."

At the sound of a loud sniff, the two elder Grangers turned and stared at their daughter in alarm. Hermione was suddenly, inexplicably weeping and swaying in her seat. As sometimes happened when she was feeling great emotion, her spoon bent, and bent again, until it was a solid ball of metal.

"Sweetheart?" Calliope said, hating herself for the small spark of fear she felt at the sight of the crushed spoon. The horror stories of accidental magic did not sit easy in her mind.

Through her tears, Hermione looked up at her mother and said, "I'm not alone, Mum. I'm not a freak, or if I am, I'm not the only one." Nearby their china cabinet began to shake, but then suddenly the kneazle was there, somehow jumping up from the floor to Hermione's lap despite her sitting on the stool, and despite the animal being just a kitten. Hermione squeezed the kitten and rocked it as the cabinet stilled and her accidental magic dissipated.

"And that is exactly why McGonagall convinced us to buy the cat," Calliope whispered pointedly to her husband, who resisted purchasing anything else at such outrageous prices in the magical creatures store.

That was when McGonagall smiled gently and said, "It has been my experience, Doctor Granger, that the true emotional impact of this day will not hit until later, usually right before or after they go to bed. With strong emotions comes accidental magic. But with a bonded familiar, the magic is controlled and much more manageable. It is, of course, your choice, but I would recommend getting her an animal. You'll thank me later."

Looking at their tear-stricken, emotionally turbulent daughter squeezing the kneazle in a way that would have crushed a normal kitten, only to hear the animal purring loudly, Edwin did in fact silently thank the professor.

* * *

sp

**Author's Note**: Very special thanks to Teufel1987, JR and Miles for beta reading. They were kind enough (and masochistic enough) to agree to beta read yet another of my fics.


	4. Aethers

A/N: Chap 3 Review Responses are available in my forums here on ff dot net. Thanks for reading.

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**Chapter Four: Aethers**

The staff of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry gathered in the Headmaster's office for their last meeting before the arrival of the students. Twenty four teachers in their casual summer robes walked into the open office, talking amongst themselves. The headmaster's windows were open for a final summer airing out before classes began, giving the spacious room a fresh, open feel.

"Good afternoon, everyone," Dumbledore said gaily from the head of the staff table. "Please make sure to try the biscuits—they were a gift from my great, great granddaughter."

The staff members gathered and took their seats—Dumbledore on one side of the oval table, McGonagall as Deputy Headmistress on the other. "Professor McGonagall, if you wish to begin?" Dumbledore said when everyone was settled.

"Thank you, Headmaster. Everyone should have their class timetables. Those of you who saw seventh-years graduate will of course be taking on the first-years. Professor Burbage, I know this is your first group of first-years since you began, so I wish to give you a word of caution. Draco Malfoy is in this group."

"Thanks for the warning," the Muggle Studies professor said.

"How went your Muggleborn Orientation?" Professor Quirrell asked. One of only four men at the table, including Dumbledore, Flitwick and Snape, Quirrell was also the youngest and, in the opinion of the witches around the table, the most handsome. "I understand from this morning's paper that there was some excitement at the Leaky Cauldron."

"Yes, what was that about?" Professor Flitwick said.

McGonagall positively glared at Quirrell, who merely smiled and met her gaze squarely. "Mr Potter merely had a strong reaction to the Floo. No one was injured."

Now even Dumbledore was curious. "Minerva, could you perhaps expand on that?"

The Gryffindor head gnawed on her lower lip for a moment before she said, "I am not sure about discussing this in an open meeting, but Pomona pointed out rightly that it would be blindingly obvious if true. Albus, there's a possibility the boy may be an Aether like his mum."

The whole table sat in absolute silence for two ticks of a clock before they erupted in questions. Dumbledore leaned back in his seat and stared at his old friend, who returned his look grimly. Finally, Professor Hooch, sounding offended, said, "How could a boy be an Aether at all? It's a strictly female trait. There's never been a male Aether before!"

"Actually, professor, there a few I can name off the top of my head," Dumbledore said calmly. "Gotta, son of Vortigern and Rowena, was an Aether. His magic was forcibly bound and a veil attached before he was forced into a monastery on the continent. Sir Francis Bacon was reputed to be an Aether. Though it is not well known, Baron William de Slytherin was an aural Aether, as was his mother Rowena Ravenclaw. In fact, both of Ravenclaw's children were Aethers. Guillarme DeBarre of France was a confirmed Aether as well, born the century before me. Sadly, he died at Waterloo, where I had the honor of meeting him in battle."

"Not exactly a noble line of precedents," Hooch said. "But I still don't understand how this could be?"

"Male Aethers are created, not born," Snape said in a low tone that nonetheless carried throughout the room. "Lily had to either do a ritual of transference, or some other method of forcing her powers onto the child. Or possibly the child was a female fetus and she forced a gender change."

Hooch sputtered. "Severus, that's ridiculous! How could any witch…?"

"You forget, my wife, that I knew Lily Potter," he continued softly. "She was the most intelligent, determined and ruthless witch I'd ever met. If she had reason to desire her son be an Aether, then she would do whatever it took to make him an Aether."

"That's dangerously close to anathema," Hooch said with narrowed eyes.

"Lily was never shy about pushing boundaries," McGonagall said. "I remember clearly the Dame of the Griffin Coven coming to this school and setting her straight. But this… it was hard to believe for me as well. However, he could see the magic in my chest, and Pomona's as well. Without any knowledge of the sorting process he identified me as Gryffindor, and Sprout as Hufflepuff. And the way he tried touching…I believe he may be a visual/tactile."

"What was Carlisle?" Flitwick said as an aside to Madam Pomfrey by his side.

"Aural. Magic sounded like music to her."

A rapping of knuckles on wood brought the meeting under control. "We will know for sure upon Mr Potter's entry into Hogwarts," Dumbledore said. "Aethers are always overcome by the magic. If he is indeed an Aether, we shall treat him the same as any other Aether we have had in this school. I wish to be clear, my friends, that Mr Potter is not to be treated any different because of his role in the last war, or because of his parentage. Whatever _geas_ Lily Potter may have been under from the covens, she gave her life to save her son and helped destroy a terrible threat to our world, and we owe it to her memory to see him treated fairly. Whatever your thoughts about Lily Potter, you are to treat Harry as his own person. Now, shall we continue?"

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

"First years! First years to me, please!" The speaker was a young woman with luminescent brown eyes and blonde hair streaked with brown, who wore robes lined with red and gold, and a lion crest badge that said HG over her left breast. "First year families to me, please!"

Slowly, the first years and their parents made their way through the crush of students and families until they stood in front of the girl. "Good morning," she said loudly. "My name is Elfaba Damples, I'm Head Girl for Hogwarts, and I will be the chaperone for your children today. First years will be seated in this last car. Before the kids are seated, I would like all first year boys here to my left, please."

From his position in the back, Edwin Granger watched with interest as thirteen boys broke away from their families to gather next to the older witch. "Thank you, thank you," she said, looking appraisingly at the boys. "Very nice batch we have here, don't we? Alright, my lads, in you go. Please move to the very back of the car and store your trunks in the overhead bins. Form a line, one at a time, please. Very good, thank you."

The boys finally disappeared into the train before Elfaba turned to face the remainder. "Okay, girls now. I want you girls to take the very first seats you come to. And I mean the very first seats. We can worry about re-arranging once we're moving. Go on then, form a line. Very good, very good."

Twenty seven girls boarded in a single line. When all the first years were inside, Damples turned to smile at the parents. "I'll take good care of them and make sure to keep them separated."

"I should say so," said a tall, imposing witch with blonde hair and a monocle of all things. "That _was_ Harry Potter I saw board with boys, was it not?"

Elfaba smiled. "Yes, Madam Bones."

"What's the fuss over the Potter boy?"

Edwin looked, but did not spot the person who asked until he felt his wife touch his shoulder and point. It was Deanna Thomas's mother. The reaction to her question, though, made his stomach clench. Many of the witches (since there were no fathers at all) simply stared flatly at the dark-skinned woman. It was the first woman with the monocle who finally answered.

"Mr Potter is the only person to ever survive the Killing Curse," Madam Bones explained while looking intently at the Muggle parents. "In so doing, he destroyed the Dark Lord who had brought the Ministry to the point of collapse. He is known as the Boy Who Lived."

"I see," Mrs Thomas said, trying to hide her own confusion. "That wasn't explained in Orientation. Thank you for explaining."

"Not at all, dear," the woman said. "Ladies, I must return to the Ministry. Good day."

The witch spun about and disappeared with a pop, and slowly the other witches also began to disburse, until only the Muggleborn parents remained. Ms Thomas saw the Grangers and smiled wanly. "I suppose I should be grateful they only despise me because I'm a Muggle. A step up than because of my skin, wouldn't you say?"

"It doesn't feel like a step up," Calliope said. "I feel the need for a strong cuppa. Care to join us?"

The other woman blinked at them a moment before grinning. "That sounds marvellous."

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

"So you're Harry Potter."

The boy had white-blonde hair and deep, dark-blue eyes that took the glow the others had and made it somehow sinister. His skin was so pale, Harry could see his veins. His magic, though—that light in his chest that every witch-born had—felt cold and somewhat slimy in him. In fact, the two other boys sitting on the bench with him felt the same, although to a lesser extent. Despite being desperate to make new friends, Harry found himself disliking the boy almost at first glance. "That's right."

"I'm Draco Malfoy. This is Nott and Crabbe. You'll soon find some wizards are better than others—I can help you find out which."

"Sit down ya cad," a boy with a heavy Scots accent said. "Everybody knows yer da is a bloomin' Death Eater!"

"You watch your tongue, you slime!" Draco shouted, rising to his feet as he did so.

"Enough, boys," Elfaba said as she walked toward them from the girl's side of the car.

Malfoy looked up and sneered at her. "And a stinking halfblood as Head Girl. My father was right, Dumbledore is insane."

Harry watched as the Head Girl paled a moment before her face took on a stony countenance. "I am head girl because I am the best of my class, just like Sarah Hattersly was last year, and Charlene Weasley before that. There has not been a Slytherin head boy or girl in over fifty years where eight Gryffindors have served in the past decade. And while you might say that's because of Headmaster Dumbledore, in fact it is because there has not been a Slytherin in that time frame to even make the top five list, much less top of the class."

"That's because a Malfoy hasn't been in school since that time," Draco said pompously.

"So your father didn't go to Hogwarts?" Harry asked with feigned innocence.

"Of course he did," Draco snarled.

"Was he in the top five in his class then?" That was the Scot asking. Behind him, a red-headed boy snickered.

"How should I know?" Draco demanded.

"You just sounded like you would know," Harry said with a shrug.

"What about you, Potter?" Harry looked at the next bench and found himself facing Kevin Entwhistle, the only other male Muggle-raised, though in fact he was a half-blood if Harry remembered correctly. "Was your Dad head boy?"

"Actually, both his parents were head students," Elfaba said, a trifle smugly. "We don't always have a head boy because of student size, but I remember seeing both James Potter and Lily Evans listed as head students for their year." She looked at Draco and said, "It so happens that Lucius Malfoy was 18th in his year. I looked. Now, are we done with this discussion? It's a long trip up, and we have a lot to go over."

"Fine," Malfoy said sulkily. He sank into his seat and Harry sat as well, relieved it was over.

"Thank you," Elfaba said as she walked to the center of the train and brandished her wand. The seats at the front of the train somehow spun about, until the girls were facing her opposite the boys. "Okay, listen up. I'm here to tell you about what you can expect for your first year, and hopefully help everyone make the transition. First things first—you'll be sorted."

The red-headed boy raised his hand. "Is it true we have to wrestle a troll?"

"Yes, I'm sorry to say," Elfaba said with a sad smile, "you will have to wrestle a troll. But fortunately for the rest of you," she said, brightening, "you will just have to put on a magic hat."

The red head dropped his hand and started muttering about his siblings being prats. "I'm teasing," Elfaba said. "You must be Charlene's little brother Ron. It's just a hat, I promise. The hat is enchanted to sense your magic and sort you according to your natural magical inclination. Now, show of hands—how many of you are aware of the elemental aspects of magic?"

Harry noticed Hermione raise her hand eagerly. "Yes, Ms Granger?"

"Witches and wizards have natural inclinations to magics oriented in one of the four classical elements. Slytherin is aligned with Water; Hufflepuff with Earth; Ravenclaw with Air; and Gryffindor with Fire."

"Very good," Elfaba said. Hermione beamed.

"Right out of the book," Malfoy said with a sneer.

"And you wish to add something, Mr Malfoy?"

"The leanings are a load of hogwash," the boy said with an arrogant drawl. "I can perform fire spells just as easily as I can conjure water. It doesn't take magic to stick a plant in the ground, and spirits forbid we actually be able to read without being a Ravenclaw. It's just another means for the school to try to keep the good students down and the bad students up."

"That's not true!" Harry said.

Malfoy sneered. "And what would you know about it, Potter? Word is you were raised by filthy Muggles."

"Well, yes, they were filthy," Harry allowed, thinking of Dudley. "But the magic elemental part is true."

"And how would you know that, Mr Potter?" Elfaba asked, though with a smile as if she already knew the answer.

Harry blushed, realizing he had backed himself into a corner and the whole car was looking at him. "Professor McGonagall said so," he finally said.

Malfoy snorted. "Which means nothing! You're nothing but an attention-seeking cad, Potter, the son of a two-bit whore who managed to poach a wizard above her station, but was too selfish to share him or follow custom. You're lucky the whole lot of you weren't proscribed by the covens."

"That is enough, Malfoy!" Elfaba snapped.

"Fine!" Harry finally said through gritted teeth. "I bet you fifty galleons I can tell you where anyone in this train will be sorted, right now!"

Malfoy stopped and stared. "You don't have the kind of money!"

"It's all I have, but I have it," Harry snapped back. "Do you?"

The blond boy scoffed. "I'm a Malfoy. I have more money than you'll ever see."

"Then it shouldn't be a problem covering the bet, then, should it? Pick any student in this car I can see. We'll give our money to Elfaba and let her hold it until after the sorting. Winner takes all."

Malfoy pursed his lips, and then grinned. "Okay, Potter. I'll take that bet." He reached up to the overhead bin and pulled down his trunk. Harry did the same, and quickly found the purse that held the coins he obtained at the bank from the foul-mouthed Goblins there.

Malfoy also pulled out a purse and counted out fifty coins. Harry didn't bother to count since fifty was all he had. Both boys walked to the bemused head girl and handed her their money. "I didn't agree to this, boys," she said. "I might just run off and have a fun time in Hogsmeade."

"No you won't," Harry said, not as a threat, but as a statement of faith. He turned to Malfoy. "Any student I can actually see."

Smirking, Malfoy walked over to the girls, looking over each one until his eyes rested on a startlingly beautiful blonde girl with bright blue eyes. With Malfoy's back to Harry, he couldn't see the other boy's face as he pointed at her. "This one. What house is she going to be in?"

He stepped aside and Harry got a better look at her. She smiled brightly at him, sitting upright and waving a little. Inside her chest, though, her magic was as cold and wet as Malfoy's.

"Slytherin," Harry said without hesitation.

The girl slumped and frowned. Malfoy sputtered. "Bollocks! You must have heard them talking."

"When?" Harry said. "I came in with the Muggleborns."

"You're lying!"

"Fine, pick another!"

"Alright!" Malfoy said. He marched right over to a round-faced boy who visibly shied away from the blond's pointing finger. "Him, Longbottom!"

"Gryffindor," Harry said, though less surely.

"Hah, you're just guessing!"

"No, he could go to Hufflepuff too, but there's more fire in his magic than earth, so I think he'll be in Gryffindor."

Malfoy stared at him, jaws gaping. "What do you think you are, Potter, a bloody Aether?"

Elfaba jingled their money in her hand. "As a matter of fact, Mr Malfoy, that's exactly what he is, at least, that's the current theory. And if that's true, he just out Slytherin_ed_ a Slytherin, now didn't he?"

"There are no such things as male Aethers!" Malfoy said.

"Well, there's a good chance that Mr Potter will prove that statement quite false," Elfaba said with a wide smile.

Behind her, Deanna Thomas raised a hand. "What's an Aether?"

"Well, it goes back to the elemental leanings of magic, Ms Granger," Elfaba said. "There is Earth, Water, Fire and Air. But there is also the fifth element, if you will, which in magic is called Aether. Some Aethers have been known to hear magic—they could tell who was a Gryffindor or a Slytherin by the music of the magic. Others had such acuity of touch that they could feel magic. From what Professor McGonagall told me, Harry can see and feel magic."

"Er, yeah," Harry said softly.

"We actually have an Aether teaching at Hogwarts," Elfaba said in a matter-of-fact tone. "Sybil Trelawney. The last Aether to graduate was Mary Carlisle, Class of '84. However, I understand we may have a second Aether starting next year. Who can tell me about Aethers?"

Once again, Hermione's hand shot up. "Sorry, dear, let's let someone else answer," Elfaba said.

Hermione dropped her arm with a look of disappointment. Beside her, a petite Asian girl who looked two years too young to be eleven raised her hand. "Yes, Su Li, isn't it?"

"Aethers are more attuned to magics of the spirit," the girl said with a nod. "They are commonly prophets, priests, seers, adepts at mind and soul magic, and for some, death magic. My Nana was an Aether."

"Very good." Elfaba looked back at Malfoy. "Like Mr Malfoy pointed out, having an elemental inclination does not actually prevent you from using magic from a different element. If that were true, we would have to teach each house separately. But the sorting is not just a ruse. You are sorted based on where best your magic will thrive. Sorry to pick on you, Mr Potter, but Aethers are rare and interesting, and male ones even more so, so you might as well get used to it. If nothing else, though, you'll have fifty extra galleons to spend at the commissary this year."

"He cheated!" Malfoy said.

"He proved you wrong," Elfaba replied smugly. "And he hasn't won the bet yet. Mr Longbottom could end up being sorted to Ravenclaw, though of course _I_ wouldn't bet on it.

Now, let's talk about your first day of class, and what you can expect. All of the 7-year core subjects have two professors each. Who you get will be your professor, following you up each year, until you finish that subject, so there are many professors that you will never actually have…"

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sp

**Author's Note**: Very special thanks to Teufel1987, JR and Miles for beta reading. They were kind enough (and masochistic enough) to agree to beta read yet another of my fics.


	5. Walls of Magic

A/N: Review Responses are available in my forums. I would also like to take a moment to discuss certain topics of discussion in this chapter. Magical society in this story is homophobic. This is not me advocating homophobia at all, but rather just one of the many illustrated points of how broken and oppressive this society really is. Think of it as similar in concept to some of the repressive practices of V for Vendetta. It is not my intent to be insulting to anyone based on orientation, but to rather explore how such a society would handle such orientations. The world of Magic in this story is not a friendly, happy place.

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**Chapter Five: Walls of Magic**

Harry couldn't walk straight. He tried, truly he did, but he just could not concentrate on anything as mundane as walking. The moment he climbed off the boat, he started stumbling drunkenly. At first the other students laughed about it, until they realized it was not Harry Potter trying to be funny or acting the fool—it was Harry Potter being so completely overwhelmed by the magic in the walls of Hogwarts that he could not focus even enough of his mind to the simple task of walking.

"Alright there, Mr Potter?" Elfaba said, taking his shoulder in her hand.

A spark of energy shot through him at the touch and he jumped in surprise. He could see her power completely now, burning like a roaring fire in her chest; she was as nervous about being head girl as he was about being a first-year. He didn't even think as he reached out and touched the fire, calming it almost immediately.

He heard gasps behind him, as well as Malfoy snickering about stupid Mudbloods, but he could only focus on calming the fire in her chest—it helped keep him focused away from the overpowering levels of magic in the walls around him.

"Mr Potter," McGonagall said, arriving suddenly. Then, more gently, "Elfaba?"

"Oh, sorry, Professor," the elder girl said, taking Harry's hand from her breast. "That's quite the effect he has, isn't it? Just like you said." Clearing her throat, she said, "Harry, remember, we don't touch like that here."

He swayed a little, then blinked and blushed. "I'm sorry, but you were so nervous and the walls are so bright my head hurts and…oh, yeah. Sorry."

He looked down at his feet in shame. "No worries, mate," the Scot, Finnigan said from behind him. "Nothing else, you just got to feel up a hot looking bird."

"In your dreams, Mr Finnigan," Elfaba said.

"Every night," the boy said with a smug grin.

"Not unless you're older than you look," the head girl shot back with a saucy wink. "The first years are ready, Professor."

"Very good, Elfaba. Please join your table." When the head girl was gone, McGonagall turned and looked back at the First Years. "Miss Rivers?"

A pretty girl with a wide, freckled oval face and eyes so blue they were almost violet blanched. "Yes, Professor?"

"Given that you are to be sorted after him, could you please make sure Mr Potter stays in his place for the sorting?"

"Yes, Professor."

"Very good, thank you. All of you, as you should be aware now from our head girl, you are all about to be sorted into your houses. These houses have been designed specifically for persons with your elemental inclination over several hundred years. Everything from color scheme to furniture placement has been designed for your personal comfort. That is because for the first three years of your lives here there will be some additional restrictions on you that you will not find once you are older. This is for your own safety and propriety. Your heads of house shall act as your guide, your parent and your advocate while you are here, and if you have any problems at all you should not hesitate to contact those heads. Now, if we are all lined up, we shall go."

She lined them up in front of a pair of huge doors and walked down, nodding to each one. As she did so, she noticed Harry wincing and swaying a little, while behind him Jessica Rivers looked worried. "Ms Patil?" she asked the girl directly in front of him.

Parvati looked up and smiled. "Yes, Professor?"

"Ms Rivers may need some additional help with Mr Potter. See to it, please?"

"Of course, Professor, but why?"

"Imagine stepping from a dark room you've lived in all your life into the brightest day in you can imagine," McGonagall said. "If there was any doubt of him being an Aether, it is certainly gone now. His mother had the same difficulty. It will take him some time to adjust. I appreciate your helping."

"What?" Harry asked, having completely missed the conversation.

"Nothing, Harry. I'm Parvati, nice to meet you."

"Hi, Parvati," he said. "You're pretty. You'll like Gryffindor, I think." He winced and held a hand to his brow. "Sorry, head hurts."

"Will I be in Gryffindor?" a second Patil girl asked.

Harry blinked. "I'm seeing double," he muttered.

"They're twins," the girl behind him said helpfully.

He turned and looked at her, smiling faintly, then looked back to the twins. "Er, no, you'll be Ravenclaw. But she'll-" this pointed back to Jessica Rivers, "be in Gryffindor."

The doors opened, and Harry took a step back. "Wow," he breathed out in pain.

The walls of the Great Hall burned with magic so brilliant it was almost unbearable, and the enchantment in the ceiling thrummed with power. If not for Parvati leading him by the hand and Jessica Rivers pushing him from the back he'd never have made it.

McGonagall led the students into the hall before leaving them to stand be a stool with a hat on it. Removing a scroll from her robe, she said, "Hannah Abbot!"

A short blond girl with dimples and freckles on her cheek walked nervously to the stool. Harry focused on her earthen-ed magic desperately, trying not to think about the walls of the castle. "Hufflepuff," he whispered as McGonagall lowered the hat on her.

"Hufflepuff," the Hat announced a moment later.

"Terri Boot," McGonagall said, reading the next name.

One of the girls from Muggleborn Orientation walked to the stool next. "Ravenclaw," Harry said.

"Ravenclaw," the hat echoed.

"That's really kind of amazing," Padma Patil said.

"Kind of creepy, too," Parvati added. "But he won his bet with Malfoy."

So the names went, Harry announcing their placement right before the hat in a desperate bid not to focus on the walls or the ceiling. He hardly noticed when Padma was called, or Parvati after her. It wasn't until Jessica pushed at him gently that he turned to look in confusion. "It's your turn, Harry," the girl was saying, looking pointedly at the patiently waiting McGonagall.

"Oh, right, thanks." Harry walked stiff-legged across the floor—not even looking down helped. The floors were as magical as the walls, and he could sense movement beneath them, though his mind shied away from what it was.

When he got to the stool, he missed it entirely the first time he tried to sit and fell to the floor, to the delighted laughter of Malfoy and many of the other students. "Professor, there's something moving under the floor!" Harry hissed.

"House elves, Mr Potter," McGonagall explained. "I promise it is nothing to be concerned about. Now, up on the stool with you."

From the table, he heard a high-pitched voice say, "Albus, he's just like Lily was, do you remember?"

Harry tried to turn to see who spoke, but the hat was immediately shoved down on his head and he stiffened as the light of the magical room dimmed before something so bright his mind shied away from it, casting everything else in shadow.

"_Another Aether_," the hat said in his mind. "_And a powerful one as well. Your magic is stained, boy_."

Harry tried to breath. "_What do you mean_?"

"_You've been touched by evil_," the hat said. "_Your natural inclination is fire, but the stain is of water. Something is keeping the stain limited around your scar, but if that protection ever breached, the fire would be extinguished. Fire and water are elemental opposites and bound to destroy each other. You would die._"

Harry felt his heart thumping in alarm. "_What should I do_?"

"_Get the stain removed, of course_," the hat said with a smirking tone. "_I could sort you to Slytherin because of that stain. Lots of politicians come from the house of the water serpents. Water flows into all available cracks and escapes through any opening—like a good politician. You could achieve real power in that house, but you would not be happy."_

"_Malfoy's a prat, I don't want to be anywhere near him._"

"_Yes, yes he is. Then it better be,_ Gryffindor!"

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

Harry had three roommates—Ron Weasley, Seamus Finnigan and Neville Longbottom. Of the other boys, Ron and Seamus's magic seemed to burn the brightest, while Neville's magic had a slightly brown tinge to it that made Harry think the boy could almost have been a Hufflepuff.

They had a very large room with four poster beds with thick curtains for privacy. Next to their beds were space-enhanced wardrobes so big they could get dressed in them if they wanted, and a writing desk on the other side of each bed. Attached to the room was their own washroom, with a large open shower, three sinks and three toilets.

"Better not all need to piss at once, then," Finnigan said. "So, Potter, what's the deal with you acting so weird?"

"The walls are really bright," Harry complained. "Felt like someone was hitting me in the head with a hammer. Couldn't even bloody walk straight."

Seamus looked at the nearest wall and saw stained, old stone blocks. "Bright, eh?"

"Remember Elfaba said he could see magic," Neville pointed out.

"Aye, 'have to remember that if it lets me feel up birds like you did, Potter. So, name's Seamus Finnigan, I'm from Clydebank, just up the river from Glasgow."

"Neville Longbottom, Holywell. Been there for a thousand years or so, my family."

"Ron Weasley, Ottery St. Catchpole," the red head said. "My brother Percy is here, and the twins, Fred and Georgina. My youngest sister is going to be starting next year." He looked at Harry and grinned. "She's read every book there is on you, Harry, and likes our Dad to tell her bedtime stories 'bout the boy who lived. Better not feel her up like you did that bird, though, or Mum might cut you up and make a pie out of you. Or worse, bond you to her."

Harry shuddered. Being cut up was one thing, but being bonded was quite another. "Okay, promise."

"So what's your story, 'Arry," Seamus said.

Harry shrugged. "I grew up with Muggle relatives. Found out I was a wizard, here I am."

"The books are better," Seamus said, snorting. "Okay, enough with the biographies. Who's up for some exploding snap?"

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

The next morning, an older boy stepped into their room at six o'clock. He had a thin face, curly red hair, and freckles underneath his glowing brown eyes. He wore the Gryffindor robes with a prefect badge on his right breast over the Gryffindor lion. He stared at the four sleeping boys with a smirk before raising his wand. With a flick, a swish, and an incantation under his breath, the morning stillness was shattered by a horrid caterwauling reminiscent of a thousand moose being emasculated by rusty butter knives.

The boys screamed in horror as they all tumbled out of their beds and rushed about in alarm, until one boy saw who was making the noise. "Percy you prat!" Ron shouted.

The noise ended. "Good morning," the boy said. "My name is Percy Weasley, I am the fifth year prefect and your personal god. I can make your life hell, or…well, I will simply make your life hell, to be honest. It is time to wake up, get dressed and come down to the common room. You have ten minutes."

With that, Percy turned and left. Ron started digging into the trunk by his bed, pulling out far more clothes than such an object could readily hold, all the while muttering about prat siblings. Ten minutes later the four boys tumbled down to find the six girls of Gryffindor already dressed, primped and prepared with Elfaba.

"Good morning!" the Head girl said brightly; behind her, the girls giggled. "Welcome to your first day of classes. Percy, thank you. You and Adelaide can get the second and third years now."

Percy and another girl with mocha-colored skin split up to go get the next years, while Elfaba led the first years through the strangely large portrait of an even larger woman dressed like a Wagnerian opera singer and through the castle until they came to the Great Hall. Almost at the exact same time, the first years from the other four houses were led into the Great Hall.

They were all seated together when food suddenly appeared, just like at the welcoming feast. A few minutes later the four Heads of Houses emerged from a door near the staff table and walked to their respective first years.

"Good morning," Professor McGonagall said as she handed a stack of parchments to Jessica Rivers, who took one before passing it down. "These are your class timetables. All first year boys will take classes together, while first year girls will be in a separate track. First years will eat together as group, but after dinner you will have personal time. You are to stay together—one tardy student results in all your housemates being tardy, and all of them being punished with you."

Harry's head felt better that morning, and the walls did not seem quite so bright. He could see the magic there, but it just did not hurt as much as before. He accepted a stack of parchments, took his, and passed them to Seamus.

"Most extracurricular activities are limited to Third Years and above," McGonagall said. "However, you will all be taking a special course of flying, and will be studying various wizarding methods of transportation in Wizarding Studies. I expect you all to be on your best behavior. If you have any issues, please bring them to my attention."

She finished with a nod before walking to the Staff Table. In her absence, Harry looked at his schedule. He saw with dawning horror that he would be in classes every day from eight in the morning until five in the afternoon. The classes switched day to day, so he'd have Herbology, Charms, Wizard Studies and Muggle Studies on Monday, Wednesdays and Thursdays, then Transfiguration, History, and then four straight hours of Muggle Studies on Tuesdays and Thursdays. And on Saturday, he had flying.

"Wow," he muttered. "That's a long day. School until five?"

"Brilliant, isn't it?" Hermione beamed from down the table.

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

Herbology was hard. Not so much the memorizing plants, but the sheer amount of physical labor involved in successfully growing magical plants was daunting. In the first thirty minutes of her first two hour class, Professor Sprout explained why only witches, wizards and squibs could cultivate a witch's garden, while Muggles could not: magic, of course.

"A mandrake to a Muggle is just a rather unattractive root, really. It does have some medicinal value to them, to be sure, but there is no magical aspect to it. However, take this same seedling and have a witch or wizard plant it, and the very act of our intent for this plant to grow imparts a spark of magic into it, causing that mandrake to develop into the magical variety we use here at Hogwarts. This is true for all magical flora, and for a surprising amount of magical fauna as well. The magical composite creatures, like Centaurs, as you'll learn as you advance, were all created by wizards and depend on magic to survive."

Soon, the lecture was done and Sprout had them all working on planting magical seedlings for a crop of plants that they would care for through the year. It was not the most fun class ever, but after eight years of working on Aunt Petunia's garden, it was nothing Harry had not done before.

However, it made Harry suspect that he was the reason why Privet Drive's garden looked as it did, since Aunt Petunia was constantly bragging to her neighbors how good her front garden looked.

Charms was much more of a challenge for Harry, being the first class in which they employed their wands. Again, their class was comprised solely of the thirteen boys of the first year, and Harry thought the class would be rowdy and hard to control, only to find the exact opposite. Professor Flitwick held their complete attention through all two hours of charms

Harry noticed that after each class, a prefect from a different house would march them to their next class. Not once did they see the girls as they moved between classes, not until they marched into the Great Hall for lunch. Even then, they were seated together as a group, as were the second years. Third years were allowed to co-mingle a little, while the upper years were given leave to sit where they pleased, even with other houses.

It wasn't until after lunch that the truly fascinating classes began. The boys settled into the class after their prefect dropped them off and left for her own classes, being a fifth-year Slytherin. At one on the dot, a hawk-faced woman with yellow eyes and spiked hair that looked vaguely like eagle feathers strode imperiously into the room.

"Good afternoon," she said. "I am Rolanda Hooch, your Wizarding Studies professor, as well as your flying instructor. Your first flying lessons will actually be an extension of this class. As you should have seen, this class meets for six hours each week. The purpose of this class is to introduce all of you into the magical world, to share with you the expectations of your society, the pitfalls of failing to meet those expectations, and the intricacies of everyday life that even those of you who were raised in it may not be aware of."

She spoke in sharp, clipped tones and paced about the head of the class imperiously as she lectured. "The goal of this first year is to ensure that you are all familiar with the Statutes of Secrecy and the reasons why those statutes were created, the foundation of both the British Ministry of Magic and larger International Confederation of Wizards, the covens that primarily control those bodies, and the societal pressures unique to wizarding life. I see that there are only two Muggle-raised in the room. So, for their benefit, I pose the following question. Mr Malfoy?"

The blonde-haired sat up with a surprisingly attentive smile. "Yes, professor?"

"How many siblings do you have?"

"I have three older sisters, Professor."

"Born to whom?"

"Born to my father's elder wife, Elezeta Malfoy née Lestrange. I am the sole child of my father's younger wife, Narcissa Black."

Harry blinked in surprise and couldn't help but look back at the smirking boy.

"Mr Weasley," Professor Hooch continued. "There are a total of seven children born to the Weasley family, including four boys, a statistical anomaly that has advanced the fortunes of the family significantly. How many wives does your father have?"

"Well, just the one, now," Ron said, cheeks burning. "Mummy Adeena died in the war. She was my brother's Bill and Percy, and sister Charlene's mum. Me and Fred, and my sisters Georgina and Ginevra were all born to Mummy Molly."

"Thank you," she said. "I say this mainly for our two Muggle-raised students so that they understand the one, basic fact of magical life. There are too many witches and not enough wizards. While it may seem hard to believe, wars have been fought between covens for the right to claim wizards."

"But we're stronger!" Seamus proclaimed. "We got ourselves more magic!"

"That is true," Hooch said. "However, what good will all that magic do you if a coven of angry witches attacks you?"

Finnigan gulped loudly. "That doesn't sound fun."

"No, it isn't," Hooch said, wearing a smirk oddly reminiscent of Malfoy's. "Many elders of the Wizengamot over the years have learned this lesson when they failed to speak according to their coven's wishes. I say this, because this is one of the expectations of being a wizard in our society. You _will_ get married, and will at the least have two spouses. There are only forty children in this incoming class. Last year, there were eighty four. Before that, there were one hundred twenty three. Before that, one hundred fifty. This school was built to house and teach up to six thousand students at any one time. We have not had a student body above a thousand for nine generations, and that was when we were one of the only magical schools in all of Europe. Nor are we alone—Beauxbatons and Durmstrang also have experienced population losses, as have most of the magical communities in the world. We will explore many of the theories why in his class."

She paused and looked at the boys in the room. "Next year's class is almost eighty percent witches. Four witches for every wizard, primarily because of the stress of war, and the purposeful targeting of male children by You-Know-Who."

MacMillan raised his hand until Hooch nodded to him. "What if you're a poofter?"

Hooch sneered. "You get married and do your duty, and then you go seek whatever pleasures you wish if your coven so allows it."

Harry sat up—day school teachers _did not_ talk like that. "Make no mistake," the professor continued. "Wizarding society has its expectations, and those who fail to meet those expectations are at best looked down upon. Our population cannot tolerate any behavior that would prevent a wizard from siring children. If someone of an alternate sexual orientation fails to marry and produce a child, that wizard will be bound, veiled, and sent out among the Muggles. It is harsh, and for those raised in modern Muggle society, a facet you may not be accustomed to. However, it is one of many necessities of our society. Now, open your books to chapter one, where we discuss just what it means to be magical."

For the first time since this whole strange adventure began, Harry wondered if he had perhaps made a mistake in coming. Or if he never had a choice at all.

* * *

sp

**Author's Note**: Very special thanks to Teufel1987, JR and Miles for beta reading.


	6. Muggle Studies

A/N: Some good questions in reviews, which I've done my best to answer in my forums. Thank you for reading!

* * *

**Chapter Six: Muggle Studies**

Charity Burbage _looked _like a teacher, albeit an attractive one. In fact, she was one of the few professors Harry had seen who wore a Veil, though he could still see her magic boiling up in her chest. He had not seen all of them—the post-third year professors rarely ate in the great hall with the younger children.

Babbage wore the robes of a professor, but did not carry a wand. In fact, the more Harry studied her as he and the other boy students took their seats, the more he realized something was different about her. Her magic was there, but seemed constrained somehow.

"Good morning," she said in a brisk, no-nonsense voice. "I am Charity Burbage, your Muggle Studies professor. As I'm sure you've seen, you have more Muggle studies than any other course—a total of fourteen hours a week. The reason for that is very simple—this course is designed to provide you a basic Muggle education so that you can function in the Muggle world if necessary. I do not mean teaching you how to turn on a telly or use a phone, but how to perform Muggle maths, knowing basic Muggle history as it relates to our own, and learning about their sciences. While Muggles are incapable of magic, they have accomplished feats of technology which are genuinely astounding. This course is an accelerated Muggle curriculum and will cease to be mandatory upon the completion of your Muggle General Certificate of Secondary Education, referred to by its initials as GCSE exams Most Muggles finish this process by age 15, however, as witch-born you have certain advantages and so will be learning at an accelerated pace. Those who pass and wish to continue may do so to finish his or her A-levels, thereby allowing them to continue University studies if they so wish."

"I demand to opt out of this class," Malfoy said, standing. "I refuse to be taught by a Squib in topics beneath us as wizards."

"Demand denied, sit down," Babbage said without any indication she cared about his calling her a Squib. "I am well aware of your father's feelings on this topic. However, the I.C.W. has mandated this class regardless of whatever the Board of Governors or the Ministry might like, so you will take your lessons and you will pass, or you will be denied the right to sit your O.W.L.s. Do you understand, Mr Malfoy?"

Malfoy sneered and sat. Burbage, however, was not ready to drop it. "Mr Malfoy, I believe I asked you a question. Do you understand the terms and requirements of this class?"

"I understand you think you have power now," Malfoy said. "But you'll learn better soon enough when my father hears about this."

"That will be ten points from Slytherin, Mr Malfoy, and a detention tonight. We'll make sure your father learns of that as well. Now, I will ask you one more time before I contact your head of house: do you understand the terms and requirements of this class?"

"Yes, _Professor_," Malfoy sneered.

"A start," she said with a nod, "we'll work on your tone tomorrow. Rest assured, I can and will make your lives unpleasant if you give me reason. As I stated, this is an ICW-mandated class, which means my contract is with the Supreme Mugwump of the ICW independent of the Governors and the Ministry. If I am dismissed by the Governors, rest assured another just like me will be here the next day, along with ICW enforcers. Or has your father never informed you of the years following You-Know-Who's insurrection, when ICW enforcers locked down the ministry for two weeks until an entirely new Wizengamot was chosen by the covens?"

"I've heard of them," Malfoy said, sinking into his chair with a pout.

"I would hope so, as your father spent those years in Azkaban. Now, I know we have two students raised entirely in the Muggle world. How many of you have gone to Muggle day school?"

Harry was surprised to see Finnigan and several other boys from Ravenclaw raise their hands. "Very good," she said. "Today will be spent taking equivalency exams to see where everyone is. Your education for the next year will depend on how well you do. Nixy, if you please?"

Harry saw a blur of magic that looked faintly humanoid zip past, and moments later there were a pile of folded sheets on his desk, next to three sharpened pencils. "For those who do not know, these writing utensils are called 'pencils'. You may open your booklets whenever you are ready, and answer each question of the test by filling in the bubble next to the correct answer. Begin, we don't have all day."

By the time the two hours let up, Harry felt mentally and physically exhausted. He dragged himself along with the other first years as they were marched by Percy Weasley again back to Gryffindor Tower.

Once inside the common room, they saw the girls for the first time since lunch, all gathered attentively in the common room around Professor McGonagall.

"Welcome, please do come in and sit," she said. Harry did so, staying by habit now with Ron, Seamus and Neville.

"I hope everyone had a good first day. I was pleased to see no point deductions and several points awarded, well done! Ordinarily, this period will be an open study period for you. While I'm sure you've noticed that the classes are two hours apiece, this is in large part to allow you to complete your homework in class. You will not begin to receive significant prep until your third year. You will also have two extra study periods on Friday to allow you to catch up with any work you may have to do. Now, do we have any questions after your first day?"

Harry was not surprised to see Hermione's hand shoot up, nor was McGonagall who nodded to her. "Thank you, Professor. Can you tell us why we are not allowed to take potions until Third Year?"

"For the same reason you do not take Defense Against the Dark Arts," McGonagall said. "Your magic is in too great a state of flux. There are potions that are so delicate a stray erg of magical energy could catalyse them with disastrous, even lethal results. It was a safety precaution Professor Snape insisted on, and after having lost ten students just from my own house over the course of my first thirty years of teaching, I absolutely concur with his decision. Defense is the same way—you might be practicing an innocent stunning spell, but with an unstable core, the results could be lethal. I hope that answers your question."

"Thoroughly, thank you, Professor," Hermione said, sinking back down with a horrified expression.

"Make no mistake, children, that magic can be dangerous," McGonagall said. "That is why for this first year, especially, you shall be watched very closely. We take the responsibility of your safety very seriously. We ask that you respect us, and the danger that comes with this power. Each of you carries a deadly weapon in your wand. This school will not just teach you to employ your magic, but also when, where and how that magic should be used. Now, are there any other questions?"

"Where are the ghosts?" Ron asked. "Charlene told me that Hogwarts is the most haunted place in the world."

McGonagall smiled at him, but it was suddenly not a happy smile. "Are you so eager to converse with the dead, Mr Weasley?"

Ron paled so fast he looked almost faint. Harry, though, blinked as he saw a figure emerge from a portrait of Godric Gryffindor above the fire. He felt his heart skip at the single most terrifying thing he had ever seen in his life, and couldn't help but moan as he leaned back. The air around them grew so cold he saw vapor rising around him with their breaths, and even the fire dimmed as the figure floated down beside McGonagall.

"This is Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington," McGonagall said in a strangely hollow voice. "After being captured in France during the siege of Boulogne-Sur-Mer, he was brought back to London and executed on October 31st, 1492, for his support of the Pretender Perkin Warbeck, and drifted to Hogwarts thereafter."

Harry had no idea what the others saw, but what he saw was a cold, icy shadow of a person's magic without the body around it. The magic took a vaguely humanoid form, concentrating in sharp balls of eldritch, cold blue fire reminiscent of eyes. He tried to scramble up, but found his body frozen with fright.

"Don't worry, Mr Potter," a voice like ice sheets grinding together whispered. "I shan't hurt you. The others see a silver man in a doublet, but you see the true face of death, don't you?"

The others looked to see Harry frozen in terror. He did manage to nod his head. "I…don't understand."

"Ghosts, Mr Potter, are created when the magic outlives the body either through intent or accident," McGonagall said. "Aethers quite often have an affinity with ghosts—or an extremely opposite reaction. Only time will tell you with you."

The ghost laughed darkly, causing everyone in the room to shudder, before it floated back up through the ceiling. "Hogwarts _is_ the most haunted place in the British Isles," she confirmed, "but they are also disruptive because of the effect they have on the living. They are allowed to stay here so long as they do not interfere in your education. Any other questions?"

The questions continued for a few more minutes before the day was declared done and the first years were sent to their rooms Harry heard older kids emerging into the common room behind him, but knew he and the other first years would not be welcomed there.

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

It was easy to fall into a routine because the staff allowed no other option. When Elfaba joked about keeping a tight rein on the children, Harry didn't realize how serious she actually was. It seemed they were completely segregated from the rest of the student population, overseen at every moment by either a Prefect, the Head Girl, or the Professors, and worked constantly.

Muggle studies alone were more difficult than any schooling Harry had gone through, because of the sheer volume of material Professor Burbage covered. The other boys all acted like it was easy in class since none were willing to show weakness around other boys, but at night after dinner Harry watched Ron almost come to tears trying to keep up, especially given his home-schooled background.

Worst of all, Harry overheard Hermione talking to her roommates Jessica Rivers and Leah Thomas how refreshing it was to go at a faster pace and how much she was learning. He just knew that she or one of the other girls could help him, but not only were they segregated from other years, they were most definitely kept apart from the girls for reasons he could not quite understand.

By the time their first Friday arrived, Harry felt so emotionally and mentally exhausted he could barely drag himself out of bed. Fortunately, they had only single-hour classes of Herbology and Charms in the morning, with one hour study breaks in between that gave the boys a chance to catch up on their Muggle Studies work.

In Wizarding Studies, the boys listened intently as Professor Hooch talked about the structure of the Covens in England, why they came about, and how the structure continued to evolve with the times. After a few minutes of listening, though, Harry started to grow confused and raised his hand.

Hooch saw the gesture and nodded. "Mr Potter."

"Professor, it sounds like anyone can form a coven."

"Theoretically anyone can," Hooch allowed. "Now, here's a question for you—how many actually do? A new coven is defined as any group of four or more bound witches and their wizard. The modern covens grew out of the Great Shift, which began in the 5th Century right here in England when the witch queen Rowena introduced the first modern wands. Those wand-bearing witches who found a wizard formed a family unit. Those units who were able to produce the most children became the most powerful, simply because of the economics of the time. The most powerful were those with a wizard whose magic could handle four witches. Children born from these groups remained a part of the coven, increasing its practical and political power, until it gave rise to the current coven system.

"Most covens today are instead simply a group of families born into an older coven, and who appoint the oldest wizard as their elder and their oldest witch as their dame. Some covens in fact are quite large, consisting of several families. However, to form a new coven, four witches must bind themselves to the same wizard. Mr Longbottom, can you tell me why that doesn't happen very often?"

"It would like as kill the wizard," Neville said.

Harry turned and gaped at Neville. "Kill?"

"You think he's joking, Mr Potter?" Professor Hooch asked.

Harry shrank back into his seat. "Well, I did," he admitted. "Not sure, now."

Hooch looked at Finnigan. "Wizards are, on average, more powerful than witches, is that correct, Mr Finnigan?"

"Well, yes, I suppose so."

"Do you know why?"

Finnigan blinked. "Don't much talk about it at home, Professor."

"No, I imagine not. It is a subject that you will not cover in depth until your third year. However, the question was raised and we shall deal with it. The reason, Mr Potter, is simple. Sex and bonds."

Harry felt his cheeks burn. "Professor?"

"When a witch and wizard bond, the witch absorbs magic from the wizard. When my husband and I bonded, we formed a magical link. When he took his second wife, he formed another magical link with her we call a bond. The two of us are constantly pulling at his magic. While Professor Snape is in fact a very powerful wizard, if he were to attempt to bond to a third witch, the strain of forming a third link would almost certainly drain his magical core and kill him. In fact, the last legal coven was formed in 1962 by Elder Ganapti Patil, who still holds his Wizengamot seat. Before him was Headmaster Dumbledore in 1882, when he took on his fourth wife, Eustacia Potter—your great, great, great aunt, Mr Potter. The last known coven formed outside the law was He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and as we know he promptly had them all killed."

Smirking, she said, "So tell me, Mr Potter, do you think you're the Headmaster's or Dark Lord's equal to form your own coven?"

"I don't even want one witch, let alone four!" Harry said, horrified.

The other boys laughed at Harry's sincere exclamation; even Hooch smiled. "And yet, Mr Potter, have a wife you will. Two at the least."

"But can a man even really love that many women?" he asked.

"Child," Hooch said in all seriousness, "that's what love potions are for. Now, I do have an announcement to make. Flying lessons begin tomorrow morning at 9 a.m. Do not be late!"

The boys cheered enthusiastically, but even as he let a mote of excitement enter his chest, Harry dwelled on the horrifying thought of a wall of girls kissing him until his magic bled out and he died a cold, empty husk, or worse yet became a ghost like Sir Nick.

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

While Charms and Herbology classes were only one hour, Friday saw no relief with Muggle Studies that day. Harry read as best he could, struggling along with the other boys while Professor Burbage watched from behind her desk with pursed lips.

Finally, class ended and the other boys from the other houses gathered their books into their satchels and waited until their prefect came to gather them. As they were shuffling out, though, Harry lingered behind. Since they were into study time, he had no fear of getting a tardy note. At her desk, Professor Burbage was already marking papers. Without looking up, she said, "Is there something I can help you with, Mr Potter?"

Harry opened his mouth, but nothing came out. The last time he asked a teacher for help, he was withdrawn from the school and spanked with a belt until his bottom bled. He tried again, but once again no words came out and he suddenly found himself trembling. "Sorry, Professor," he finally said, giving up.

"Mr Potter," Burbage said in that clipped, precise tone of hers. "Please come here."

Suddenly fighting the trembling in his legs, Harry slowly approached the professor's desk. "Please place your book back on my desk, Mr Potter."

Harry did so, fighting his trembling. Suddenly, Burbage raised her hand over him, and Harry responded as he always did at home with nine years of intense conditioning. He covered his head with his arms

"I see," the professor said, standing above him. Harry, trembling, waited for the blow that usually came by now, but instead felt two gentle hands on his shoulders.

"I was not allowed to see your full file because I am not your head of house," she said gently as she pulled him off the floor, "but after watching you all week, I had my suspicions. You were Muggle raised, weren't you?"

Harry stared at her warily, still jumpy from the possibility of being struck. Slowly he nodded.

Burbage smiled sadly. "I wasn't going to hit you, Harry, but I apologize for the ruse regardless. I wanted to see for myself." She touched his cheek, and almost before he even thought about it, Harry had a hand on her chest, touching that raging, boiling pot of contained magic.

Rather than get upset, Burbage closed her eyes and sighed. "As wonderful as that feels, you need to remember not to do that, Harry." She gently lifted his hand from her breast, and then sighed. "Not often I actually get to feel my own magic."

Harry stuttered an apology, but Burbage merely smiled sadly. "I'm a Squib, Mr Potter. The magic is there, simply not the means to use it. While it would be considered a huge breech of etiquette and Professor Hooch would assign you a detention, the truth is I've not had my magic touched like that ever. So I can't find it within myself to be too angry."

She leaned back and studied him in silence, and Harry watched her right back. With a Veil, she looked just like any other attractive woman in her early thirties, save for her magic. However, standing so close he realized why she looked different. Compared to the light of her magic, her extremities looked almost dead. Her blood flowed through her limbs, but not her magic.

"You can see my blocks, can't you?" she finally asked.

"The magic is only in your chest," Harry admitted.

"A dysfunction of the lymphatic system, from what I've been told," she said. "Magic is, after all, highly disruptive. But enough of me. You had a question before you found yourself trapped by your conditioning. So, ask. I promise you, I shan't be mad. After all, you just touched my breast and did not even get a frown for it."

The statement was so ludicrous Harry found himself giggling with a touch of hysterical release. "I…I was just…how are we supposed to keep up, Professor? I studied through every study break and have been staying up every night trying to keep up with my maths and the biology book, and I'm still behind. I heard the girls say it was easy, but it's not! What am I doing wrong? How am I supposed to keep up?"

He was expecting a look of disappointment, but instead Burbage beamed at him. "You're not supposed to keep up, Mr Potter," she said, making it sound as if it were a brilliant concept. "You're supposed to come and ask for my help. This week has been not only a test for you boys, but a lesson as well. As good a job as Professor Hooch does, she fails to truly impart this one most important lesson to you boys."

"What, professor?"

"That wizards cannot succeed without the help of a witch," she said. "Boys like Draco see their father on the Wizengamot and believe that he is there because of his power and authority, and Lucius I'm sure propagates that theory. It will be a difficult lesson for Draco to learn that his father is there only because the coven he was born into chose for him to be. His eldest wife Elezeta is the Dame of the Malfoy Coven, and if she tells him to do something, he will do it, because he doesn't lead the coven, he speaks for it. And the moment he fails to speak for it, he will be replaced. But he will not do that, because he is smart enough to go to his witches for help. You, Mr Potter, are the first boy of your class to realize that you needed help, and that you had to come to a witch to find it. In fact, you're the first boy since I've begun teaching to come to me in the first week. Most are a month in before they consider it."

"But the girls…"

"The girls asked on the first day. Young Ms Granger asked ten minutes into classes how we would be handling the accelerated curriculum."

"She seems really smart," Harry admitted. "Her magic is really jumpy, though. She's nervous a lot."

"I imagine so. Being thrown, as she was, into a completely alien society with such outlandish rules." She stood and walked over to a large chest in the corner and opened it up. Over her shoulder Harry could see a row of beakers that seemed to glow with dancing magic.

She sat back down facing him with a potion in one hand and a palm-sized book in the other and said, "Do you know what this is?" She held up the vial.

"It's blue," he said. "But it feels kind of like…" He hesitated to say it. "It feels a little like you, and Hermione, I guess."

"Actually, I think it safer to say we feel more like it," she said. "This is a mind-ordering potion. Simply put, it makes it easier for you to retain information. It is also permanent—it was invented by a famous alchemist named Nicholas Flamel almost five hundred years ago, and has been used by almost every magical student since that time. The girls have already had theirs. Go ahead."

Harry took the cork off the potion and smelled it. "It smells like parchment and leather," he said.

"Actually, it has no smell at all," she said. "I think that's your Aether senses fooling your nose. Go ahead, Mr Potter."

With a deep breath, he poured it down his throat and swallowed quickly. It was much like water, with a slightly gritty, bitter aftertaste. He waited a moment, and then said with some disappointment, "I don't feel any different."

"Nor will you, until you study for Monday," she said. She then offered him the book. "And this…this is a book that you alone may benefit from most. I, along with most of the staff, saw how you were affected by the magical presence of the castle. While I did not teach your mother, I do remember our last Aether, Mary Carlisle. Mary's power manifested itself through audio perception—she heard magic as music. She walked through life dancing to a tune only she could hear—quite literally. She was picked on quite often when she would start dancing or swaying in place in the middle of the hall because of the castle's magic. This book helped her control that."

The book was bound in leather. On the cover was the title: Flying the Fifth Element: An Aether's Guide to Magic, by Lily Potter neé Evans.

Harry could not speak at first as he stared down at the name. "Lily…"

"Since you arrived, Professor Flitwick has commented several times about your resemblance to Lily. Not in appearance—I have it on good authority that you're the spitting image of your father. However, the ways your abilities have manifested very closely resemble your mother's experiences. And that made me think about that book. If you look further, you'll see that she actually wrote that as the thesis for her Charms Mastery, since most mind magics are considered an extension of charms. She wrote it when she was eighteen years old."

Eighteen. "Does that mean she was already married?"

"She was. She and your father bonded their sixth year and married upon completing Hogwarts. Your father would have been an ideal wizard for three wives, Harry. The headmaster himself confirmed James Potter had the power to handle it, but like many Aether witches, Lily was very uncomfortable with sharing her spouse. I'm sure in time she would have, once she assured herself of their bond, but they had to go into hiding before he could form any more bonds. The rest, as they say, is history."

Harry held the book to his chest. "I wish I understood all this. I mean … two wives? I just…it's crazy."

"Our society is dying, Mr Potter," Burbage said very softly. "Few wish to admit it, but that is the truth. Five hundred years ago, witches made up perhaps sixty per cent of the magical population. It was not so great a sin for a wizard to choose not to marry, or to have a single wife. Our laws permitted multiple spouses, but it was a magical and emotional challenge to have more than one, and most wizards, even if they had the power, simply did not have the inclination. In fact, there was a high incidence of homosexuality among wizards precisely because of the drain witches put on bonding. If you'd ever sat through a coven meeting, you would know why. But wizards…bless your souls, but you boys fight. Dark Lord after Dark Lord rose up over the centuries, and wizards went to fight the good fight and died in the process. The wizards that were left were not the winners, but the ones too weak to fight; the ones that would rather love each other than bear the strain of bonding with a witch.

"Worst of all is the destabilizing nature of magic itself. Magic is inherently destructive, Mr Potter. That's why older witches like McGonagall, or wizards like Professor Dumbledore, barely look human anymore. Magic has changed their bodies into something no longer human. There is no pain—it is a part of our life cycle and I have no fear of it. But that means that after a certain point we can no longer interbreed with base humans to increase our numbers. And when we do, the results are almost always female, which just complicates the issue.

"And so we come to our current state—a government that on the surface is run by wizards while in fact wholly controlled by the covens behind them; a world where wizards are a commodity sought after fiercely by witches. Have you ever wondered why your every step is controlled, and why you're constantly watched?"

Harry nodded, though he feared the answer.

"The reason, Harry, is to keep you from finding yourself bound to a witch before your magic matures. There are witches who would do that—especially to you because of your unique powers and your role in the war. They wouldn't care that doing so would render you as a vegetable for the rest of your life by shattering your magic. And so our job is not just to educate you, but to protect you until you are mature enough to safely handle a bond."

With a look over his shoulder, she took his hand and placed it right back on her left breast. "Do you know why everyone has told you not to do this?"

"Because I'm…" His cheeks flushed as, whole subconsciously, he touched her magic. "Because I'm touching your boob."

"While that might be a good reason for a Muggle, you'd be astounded at just how touchy witches and wizards are. No, you're not supposed to do this, Harry, because of how astoundingly good it feels to witches. The sensation is so powerful, that a young girl without control of her magic might bind herself to you if it went on too long." She took his hand away, and his palm felt tingly, and yet it felt cold as well.

"Is that why we don't get to see the girls?" he finally asked.

"Absolutely," Burbage said, smiling. "Like I said, witches and wizards are amazingly sensual beings. I have no doubt in my mind that if we allowed co-mingling, you'd have half the girls in First Year rubbing up against you constantly like a pack of kneazles, just because of the feel of your magic. And that, my young friend, is something we don't want when there's a chance of accidental bonding and all of the negative aspects that bonding has."

"Has it happened before?" Harry asked.

"It has, and the poor lad spent the rest of his life in St. Mungo's Hospital, mad from a broken magical core. Worst yet, the Ministry still let two women bond with him so he could father children anyway. The expectations of society, after all." She sounded slightly bitter at the last. "Read the book, Harry, but know it would not help anyone else—the magic discussed in it is simply not possible for most children your age."

"Should I…could I let the others know about the potion?"

"Yes," Burbage said. "In fact, I would encourage it.'

"Thank you, Professor." He started to gather his bag, when on an impulse almost impossible to control, he turned and wrapped the startled woman in a hug. He felt her burbling magic bouncing against his, as if he were hugging a warming, soothing fire.

Blushing brilliantly, he backed away, grabbed his bag, and all but ran from the classroom. Burbage sighed, touching her breast and the tingle there, before nearly shouting in alarm to find Professor Dumbledore standing right in front of her desk with a twinkling smile.

"Professor!" she nearly screamed. "What…how long have you been there?"

"Long enough," he said. The ancient wizard walked toward the cabinet, his wand bouncing in his hand behind his back. "How has your first week gone?"

Cheeks flaring, she said, "Well enough. The witches are bright this year, and Mr Potter promises to be a leader among the wizards."

"Excellent news," Dumbledore said. In an old, wispy voice he said, "Professor McGonagall has told me that Mr Potter's touch has quite the soothing effect on a witch's magic."

"It does," she said tightly. "No excuse for me, I suppose, but…"

He turned slowly to her, and then smiled. "Dear, you have nothing to be ashamed of. His touch was not in the least bit sensual, rather it was entirely magical. And given your condition, I would be the last person to condemn you for that. However, I do think it wise not to make a habit of having under-age wizards fondling your breasts."

Burbage sighed. "Honestly, Papa, get your mind out of the gutter!"

Dumbledore laughed in delight. "Oh, if only I could find the gutter, much less enter it. Regardless, Charity, you did a truly wonderful thing today. You have made a genuine connection with the boy. When Professor McGonagall reported his conditions at home, I'm afraid I despaired that he would fail to flourish. And I must say, it was inspired to give him Lily's book."

"Who better to teach an Aether son than his own Aether mother?" she said.

"Hmm," he said. "If I recall, you knew Mrs Potter personally, did you not?"

Charity blinked, before smiling. "Yes, yes I did. I wasn't as close to her as Alice Longbottom or Selena Lovegood were, but we were friends. Of course, it turned out to be a good thing I wasn't that close."

"And that you were my last living descendent," Dumbledore said. "Many eyes are watching Mr Potter, dear. The news that he is an Aether has not been met with enthusiasm by the covens. While I encourage you to cultivate your relationship with him, please be careful in so doing."

Clearing his throat abruptly, he continued, "Well, I am off. I hope to see you tonight for dinner? I would love to spend time with my great-great granddaughter, after all. It is amazing that we live in the same castle and yet see so little of each other."

Burbage smiled. "Of course, Papa. I'll see you at seven."

After he was gone, Charity opened her desk to remove her own copy of Lily's book and stared at the picture of the witch within. "And now it begins, Lily," she whispered.

* * *

sp

**Author's Note**: Very special thanks to Teufel1987, JR and Miles for beta reading. I appreciated the Brit picking this time around!


	7. Flying

**A/N**: Lots of review, thank you all for reading. Review responses for this and all my stories can be found in my forums. Thank you for reading.

* * *

**Chapter Seven: Flying**

"Pay attention, class!" Professor Hooch snapped impatiently. "Girls, silence!"

This was the first time since the sorting that the girls and boys had class together, and Harry found himself staring at his female classmates with a mixture of fascination and abject terror. He kept having visions of them swooping down at him like harpies, kissing him and sucking out his magic until there was nothing left but a dry, desiccated husk.

"Shut your yaps, runts," Hooch's assistant for the day, a Slytherin prefect named Marcus Flint said. Flint was not just a prefect; he was captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team.

"Now, as we have discussed this week, there are four common means of magical travel," Hooch said, speaking loudly to be heard by everyone. "The first is Apparition. The second is the Floo network. The third is Portkeys. The fourth is on a type of magical vehicle. This fourth means has a near infinite amount of variety in it—one can charm nearly anything to move by magic—from Muggle automobiles to an animal, magic or otherwise. The Knight Bus is an example of that. And there is a very good possibility that if you have imagined it, someone, somewhere, has put a charm on it and ridden it, no matter how outlandish. However, the most popular object to enchant is the traditional broomstick. This is primarily because broomsticks were readily available to the witches who had most need of them and the wood and straw retained the charms better. We continue to use brooms today mainly as a tradition—there are better ways to travel, but just as Muggles still ride horses for leisure and competition, so too do we use brooms for leisure and competition."

Hooch walked between the large line of twenty seven girls and the smaller grouping of thirteen boys with her yellow eyes paying peering intently at each. She only stopped at the end of the line because of a lone figure walking toward her, tall and thin in black robes.

When he got closer, Harry was able to make out the long nose and short-cropped black hair of the head of Slytherin, Severus Snape. "Professor Hooch," he said with a formal nod to his own elder wife.

"Professor Snape, come to scout again?"

With a smirk, the head of Slytherin said, "One can always hope."

"Indeed." Hooch spun and said, "Everyone hold out your dominant hand over the broom next to you and say 'Up'. Do so now!"

Harry did not just feel the magic in the broom respond—he saw a colourless slither of it snap up to the palm of his hand as he said the word, followed by the broom itself. "Whoa," he said, grinning madly.

Around him, he saw others struggling with their brooms Neville's broom sent out the tendril of magic, but it seemed to have missed his hand somehow, while Hermione's broom (across the wide path Hooch insisted on between the girls and boys) didn't send anything out at all. Only a few kids had any luck—Harry saw with no small irritation that Malfoy's broom had come as easily to him as Harry's. Snape also noticed.

"If the broom has not come to your hand, then reach down and pick it up," Hooch said. "Flint, did you see who had responses?"

"Aye, Professor," Flint said with a toothy grimace that might have been a smile. "Malfoy, Potter, Nott, Bones, Goyle and Finch-Fletchley, over here."

Harry was surprised when three of the girls crossed the path. One was the tall girl with dark hair and a slightly long face and a pretty, petite nose whom he recognized from Muggleborn Orientation. The other was another pretty girl with copper-coloured hair and a wide, oval face. The third was quite possibly the ugliest female he'd ever seen. Gregoria Goyle towered half a head over Finch-Fletchley, who was several inches taller than Bones, and was so broad of shoulder she looked more mannish than any of the boys.

She also appeared to have the shadow of whiskers on her upper lip, which made Harry shudder as he joined them.

"Alright you lot," Flint said, "I'm a Quidditch team captain and my team won the Quidditch cup last year, so I know what I'm talking about. You got picked because you got an immediate response from the broom. That means you've ridden before."

Harry opened his mouth to protest, but stopped short at Flint's glare. "Now, rules—no touchy-feely shite. Can't stand ickle firsties touching each other. Gives me the creeps, see. Alright, everybody get on their broom and in the air."

Flint said "Up" and his own broom snapped into his hand; in a single casual motion he had the broom between his legs and his body in the air before Harry could exhale. He saw Malfoy do the same, with the same economy of motion, and ground his teeth. He glanced at Susan Bones and Justine Finch-Fletchly—the two girls smiled shyly before they did the same.

Goyle grunted something that might have been insulting, but Harry couldn't quite make it out. Not to be out done, he placed the broom between his legs and stood there, waiting for something to happen.

"Is there a problem, Mr Potter?"

Harry turned his head and saw glowing black eyes peering at him from over the arch of a long nose. Snape was still a young man, but Harry could see the cold, blue power boiling in his chest, arms and legs. "I'm not sure what to do, Professor," he admitted.

"Not sure what to do, Potter?"

"I've never been on a broom before, sir."

One elegant black grow rose up. "And yet the broom responded to you. Either you are the most extraordinary wizard in the planet, or you're lying."

"I was raised by my Muggle relatives, sir, I'd never even heard of magic before this summer!" Harry insisted.

"So I've heard," the professor said with a sneer. "Well, if you want a hint, Potter, you must wish the broom to move."

Harry very, very much wished the broom to move, if just to get away from the wizard looming over him. The broom, absorbing not just his magic but the rushing intent behind it, responded accordingly.

Harry shot into the air like a cannon ball. He did not even have time to scream as he clutched desperately at the haft. Behind him, he heard Flint scream, "Potter, what the bloody 'ell are you doing?" but he was moving too fast to look back. Instead, he clamped his legs around what felt like a much thicker body than the thin broom handle and realized he was actually sitting on a charmed surface rather than the wood itself.

Then he blinked and saw he was a foot away from slamming into the Quidditch stands. With a half-articulated scream of terror, Harry pulled left not just with the haft, but with his will and magic, all three working together with instinctive self-preservation. In the grounds, Hooch watched with a gaping jaw as Harry threaded the intricate puzzle of the Quidditch stand supports at several kilometres an hour beyond the broom's maximum speed, screaming the whole while.

"What did you do, Severus?" she finally said as her husband moved to her side.

"The boy claimed never to have ridden before," Severus said.

"And I'm a bleedin' Veela," she muttered. Placing her wand to her throat, she cast a _Sonorus _spell and shouted, "Potter, get back here now!"

The boy in question somehow threaded his body and broom through a window of wooden supports perhaps two feet square at full speed, pulled up, corkscrewed around and shot toward them. "How do I stop this thing!" he screamed as he shot past without slowing down.

"You wish the broom to stop!" Hooch shouted back.

Suddenly the broom stopped. Unfortunately, Harry was going a hundred kilometers an hour when it did, and he, as a consequence, did not stop. With another terrified scream he flew off the suddenly stationary broom and flew through the air on a parabolic course that took him right into the pond behind the gamekeeper's hut.

"Perhaps the boy wasn't lying," Snape allowed with a smirk.

Hooch looked at him and said, "You are a bastard sometimes, you know that?"

"Indubitably, my dear," he smirked at her as he started back to the castle. "Have fun with the boy. Remind Minerva first years are not allowed to play."

"And she'll remind you that she can make exceptions," she said. "And it'll serve you right at that."

Still smirking, Snape continued walking away.

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

Harry did not know how to swim—why would he? Learning to swim would mean he had been allowed to learn swimming in the first place. So he floundered in a pool a foot deeper than he could stand, gasping and coughing, until a rough hand grabbed the back of his robes and lifted him out of the water like a wet kitten.

He dangled in the air until he came to face a massive head covered in thick, dirty black hair. In the midst of the hair were two small, gleaming black eyes and a massively bulbous nose as large as Harry's fist. Then he realized the head alone was large as he was, and screamed in terror.

The giant screamed right back and dropped him before falling back in the pond with flailing arms The massive wave his fall caused carried Harry to shallow water where he was able to find his footing and scrambled out, shivering in the morning chill as he did so.

"What'd ya dun that fer?" the giant growled. He picked himself up out of the water. "Jus' trying to 'elp and all!"

"I'm sorry!" Harry said. "You scared me!"

"Saved yer, more'n like!"

"Oh, well, yes, thank you," Harry said, remembering his manners.

The giant stared at him a minute, before smiling that huge, terrifying smile filled with black-edged, yellow teeth. "Blimey, you're 'Arry Potter, aren't yer?"

"Er, yeah."

The giant walked through the pond as if striding through a puddle, and offered a hand as large as Harry's head. "Rubeus Hagrid, gamekeeper."

"Nice to meet you," Harry said, still trying to absorb what it was he was seeing. The giant man had a magical core—it was surprisingly small, but it was there bubbling away in his chest. However, his magic also seemed a lot more dispersed than in other people he'd seen, shimmering over his skin and body like a second set of clothes—a set which hopefully didn't smell nearly as bad as what Hagrid actually wore.

"Well, I see Professor Hooch waving, so you'd best get back to class. Yer Da told me the secret to brooms, if yer wanna know. Just pretend the broom ain't there t'all; like yer can fly on your own, and yer go wherever like yer wanna go. Broom'll take yer there."

"Oh, okay, thank you." Harry turned to leave, but stopped. "Wait, you knew my dad?"

"Well yeah!" Hagrid said with another frightening smile. "He and those friends o' his came out all the time. Made rock cakes and have tea together, we did. Maybe yer can come out some day."

"Oh, well, sure, that'd be nice," Harry said. "Gotta go!"

"Right, off yer go then!" Hagrid said, shooing him toward the flying lesson.

Harry saw that his broom was right where he left it on the far edge of the practice field by the Quidditch stand. Just out of curiosity, he said, "Come". He grinned in surprise when the tendril of magic snapped out across the distance to his palm, followed by the broom itself. He lost the grin when the broom slapped painfully into his hand. "Ouch!"

"Mr Potter!" Hooch shouted when he arrived. "What do you think you were doing?"

Behind her, all the other students were laughing at him. Harry felt his cheeks glowing and wanted to shrink in on himself. "Sorry, Professor," he said softly.

"Why did you take off so fast?"

"Professor Snape said I just needed to want the broom to move."

"And?" she said, exasperated.

"I wanted it to move away from him real fast," Harry clarified.

She stared hard at him, until he noticed a quirk in the side of her mouth where she was fighting her laughter. "And your aerial ballet?"

"I didn't realize it would stop so fast. I'm sorry."

"Never mind," Hooch said with a sigh. "Mount your broom."

Harry did as instructed. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small golden ball with wings. "Catch this five times, and you'll pass full marks from the flying portion of the class without another lesson."

She let it go, and with a whoop Harry shot after it. He was still in the air when Professor McGonagall arrived just minutes later. "Rolanda, I heard an interesting rumour regarding one of my Lions."

"He's caught the bloody practice snitch four times," Hooch said dryly.

"Four times!" McGonagall said. "How long have you been drilling him?"

"Ten minutes."

"Got it!" Harry screamed from the air before shooting down from two hundred feet in a second. He pulled the broom up a foot from the ground, dismounted while still in motion, and ran toward Hooch with the ball in his hand. "This is brill! Can I do it again?"

Behind him, Flint had taken over the class, though most of them were staring at Harry.

"Sev also wishes to remind you that first years cannot play," Hooch said.

"We'll see about that!" McGonagall huffed. "I want that cup back, thank you very much. Mr Potter, congratulations on passing your flying lessons. With me, please."

"Yes, Professor!"

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

"I just don't understand it, Lily was pants at brooms," Professor Flitwick said at the end of an interesting staff meeting. "In fact I was always under the impression that Aethers did poorly in magical transportation as a whole."

"The boy threaded the Quidditch stands better than I could," Hooch said. "I doubt Gwenog Jones could have done better, and she'd likely agree. If I didn't know better, I'd say the boy was lying about never flying before."

Beside her, Severus Snape snorted. "As would I, until I saw him nearly kill himself because he did not know how to properly stop."

"Sev, you're being mean," his second wife and one of the youngest staff members besides Charity, Aurora Sinistra, said, though she too was smiling gently.

"Perhaps," Snape allowed, not showing any remorse. "Regardless, the boy is a first year, Minerva. Surely you don't mean to expose him to upper years? Especially given the attention he has already received?"

"And what, pray tell, do you mean by that?" Minerva asked.

"Madame Zabini has already proposed a contract for her daughter Blaise and Mr Potter," Dumbledore said in a light tone. "To be effective upon their fourteenth birthday, with a permitted usage clause at any time prior to that."

"She didn't!" McGonagall said, aghast.

"Oh, she did," Snape said, "and then only because she knew we would alert authorities if she proposed the contract for herself. Nor is she the only one; she's just the most blatant."

"You know how the locker rooms are," Hooch said. "What if he comes up and grabs that promising girl you wanted to start—Johnson was it?—like he did Damples that first day? The girl is still a Third Year—how do you think she would respond? She'd slap him silly!"

"No," Burbage said from the end of the table. "More than likely she would snog him until he was blue and bond him on the spot."

Beside her, Dulcetta Orkin, the second Muggle Studies professor for the even years, snorted. "I've heard there's a line of girls wanting to do just that."

"From what Elfaba told me, you're likely both right, Charity, 'Cetta" McGonagall said. "I'm a bit old to have had much of a reaction, but it felt almost as if the boy was touching my magic itself, and it was not an unpleasant feeling at all."

"That just proves the point," Hooch said.

"He wouldn't be the only exception, though," Flitwick noted. "I was planning on filing an exception for a talented second year of mine, and I know Severus was out there to look at the Malfoy boy. Minerva, I know you were also going to ask for a second year exceptions for that second-year girl who impressed Rolanda last year."

"All the exceptions are girls," Hooch noted.

"I am going to seek an exception for Mr Malfoy next year," Snape said. "However, I do so knowing that he was brought up in wizarding traditions and knows better than to allow himself to fall into an untenable situation. Potter does not."

"I'll ensure he has a separate changing room," McGonagall said, a little shaken by the discussion. "I would have had to do that anyway. Wood has already recruited the Weasley twins who are third years. I'll make a point of pairing Harry with Fred Weasley. But one way or the other, I will have Potter on my team."

"Well, if I have learned nothing else after sixty years of working with you, Professor," Dumbledore said, "is when not to argue. File your exceptions, all of you, and they will most likely be approved."

"I still don't understand where this talent comes from," Filius said again. "Lily could barely even sit on a broom!"

"While it is easy to see Lily in his behavior and responses," Dumbledore said, "one must not forget that his father was also an astounding flier, and to this day holds the record for most goals scored in a game. After all, he is his father's son as well."

Snape frowned but said nothing. Across from him, Professor Quirrell tugged at the end of his ridiculous turban. Unlike the others, he wore his veil, but instead of making him look normal, it had the opposite effect. Quirrell was, without doubt, the most handsome man at the table and spoke with a casual ease and confidence. "So when can we expect to see the young prodigy in action then?"

"The Quidditch season begins on the first of November," Hooch said.

"I look forward to watching the young man play," the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor said smoothly. "After hearing so much about him this week, it should be an adventure."

"Of course, you won't have him as a student for another few years," McGonagall said, "but he's shown he has a good mind on his shoulders. You could come to dinner in the Great Hall any time you wish to meet him."

"Or, if you wish a more intimate environment, my class," Burbage said. At the amused looks from her colleagues, she blushed prettily. "I simply meant to say that Mr Potter will often take his afternoon study in class with me to talk about the week, or discuss his work."

"An enticing offer, Ms Burbage, but at this time it's best for me not to speak to him. You all know how I like to test my incoming students," Quirrell said. "The test loses something if they get to know me beforehand."

"Meaning you like to scare them," Sinistra said, frowning.

"Consider it a practical lesson in Defense," Quirrell responded with a smile as smooth as his voice.

"Yes, well, anything else to discuss?" Dumbledore asked. "No? Then thank you for your time, and please let me know if you need anything."

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

To Harry's everlasting shock, Burbage's Ordering Potion worked. Harry read through his maths text book on Sunday night, and realized with a sense of shock that he actually remembered it all. He could not say for sure he understood it, but he remembered it. Hunching over, he started working on the problem, his brows furrowed in concentration.

The other boys knew about the potion—of course Harry told them, but in the context of something the girls _already had_. That provided all the impetus the boys would need to get the potion for themselves, along with a lot of grumbling about how unfair it was that the girls got a head start that the boys didn't. Except for Neville, who simply said, "Girls always get the head start."

His statement killed the grumbling, replacing it instead with a rather sober contemplative silence as the boys truly thought about what Neville's statement—and the truth behind it—meant.

Whatever the circumstances, Harry found his second week of Hogwarts much, much more bearable than his first. The only class that really gave homework was Muggle Studies, and then simply because they were covering so much at once. However, as a result of the potion, Harry found he retained more of what he read, which meant he was able to read through prep faster. The potion did not make him smarter, he didn't think, but it definitely helped him remember what he read through.

He also found himself looking forward to Muggle Studies every day. Although Professor Burbage treated all students equally in class, Harry couldn't help but imagine some extra warmth in her eyes whenever she looked at him. He certainly felt the same for her. Of course, their schedule was so tightly controlled that he did not have a chance to really expound on those feelings, but he thought it was probably the best. Whenever he thought a teacher might like him in the past, something always came along and ruined it—usually the Dursleys. This way, he was able to maintain the illusion that, at least to Professor Burbage, Harry Potter was special.

* * *

sp

**Author's Note**: Very special thanks to Teufel1987, JR and Miles for beta reading. I appreciated the Brit picking this time around!


	8. Quidditch

**A/N:** I hope everyone had a happy holiday. Responses to Chap 7 reviews are available in my forums here on fanfiction dot net. Some have been confused and that I post responses in my yahoo group, but my yahoo group serves as an archive only.

Also, please note that as part of the AU, the snitch is only worth 50 points. Having a snitch be worth 15 quaffle scores has always really bothered me, and since I've changed so much, I changed that as well. The Seeker is still important, but is not the only player on the team worth anything any more.

Thank you for reading.

sp

* * *

**Chapter Eight: Quidditch**

On his second Saturday at Hogwarts, while the other first years continued their flying lessons, Professor McGonagall personally escorted Harry to the Quidditch pitch. He was already dressed in the crimson and gold uniform of the team, with charmed robes designed to lessen the force of any accidents or Bludgers.

Ron gave Harry the basics of the game during the week—and a lot more as well. He and Seamus came to blows, twice over, which was the best team to follow, while at the same time pulling out books to illustrate the different aspects of the game. So Harry had at least a theoretical appreciation for the game, even if he did not understand it completely.

By the time he arrived, the rest of the team was already at the Quidditch stands with their brooms. The captain, Oliver Wood, was holding two. "And here is our new Seeker!" he said in an expansive voice. At sixteen, Wood was the oldest member of the team, which even for Hogwarts made for a very young team. It seemed that all the experienced players graduated with Charlene Weasley two years ago, leaving a significant gap in the team the following year—the year Slytherin won the Quidditch Cup.

Aside from Elfaba and the prefects, this was the first time Harry had seen older students outside of meal time. The team was dominated by girls, of course. Angelina Johnson and Alicia Spinnet were both third years with beautiful dark skin and shining red magic in their chests. The youngest chaser was Katie Bell, a second year. Katie had dark blond hair and high cheekbones. She smiled at Harry.

Harry smiled shyly back, before turning his attention to the infamous Weasley twins. Fred and Georgina could have been mirror images. Georgina was slightly taller, while Fred was wider in the shoulders, but they had very similar features and of course the same bright red hair as Ron and Percy. He would have liked to say that Georgina was pretty, but she really wasn't. She was just as gangly and awkward as her twin brother, but with the added awkwardness of rather large breasts for a thirteen-year-old girl.

She was also violent. "So this is little Ronnikin's friend," Georgina said, throwing a painful punch at Harry's shoulder. He rubbed it and frowned at her, but she just grinned back while throwing an arm over Fred's shoulders. "How the babies grow up," she said.

"It's enough to make a bloke cry," Fred said, pretending to wipe his eyes.

"Enough, you two," Wood said. "You're frankly all lucky to be on the team. We're going to have the youngest team in the castle, and it's going to be quite the challenge in our first game. Every Slytherin player is a fifth-year or above. So no horsing around."

"Oh Oliver, calm down," Angelina said. And then, to Harry's gaping shock, she kissed him.

On the lips.

"Enough," McGonagall warned. "Ladies, I want you to pay very, very close attention. It took some fast talking to get an exemption to allow Mr Potter to play this year. When you see him fly, you'll understand why. However, as a part of that exemption he will not be allowed to change in the changing room, and additionally there will be no touching. I am perfectly willing to remove you from the team—even if it costs us the cup—if you do not obey this."

"Not even hitting him when he does something stupid?" Georgina said.

"Which he will," Alicia added.

"Because he's a boy," Angelina finished up.

"Not even then," McGonagall said. "And I had better not see any more kissing of the captain on the field, either."

"Just innocent fun, Professor," Angelina said with a saucy smile.

"It usually is, until you find yourself bound to him out of wedlock," the professor said sternly. "And it so happens that I know Oliver is under contract with a nice young lady in Leeds."

Harry expected Oliver to be smile at that, but instead the teen merely shrugged. "I suppose I am at that. Well, be that as it may, it's time to get started. You all made the cut from try-outs on Wednesday night, and our first game is only weeks away, so we have a long way to go. So, we'll be doing flying drills today to get started." He handed his second broom to Harry—it looked a lot more sleek and finished that the brooms he saw for flying class.

"Blimey, that's a Nimbus 2000!" Fred exclaimed.

"A Seeker's broom if ever I saw one," Wood said with approval. "First and second years are not allowed their own broom at school, Harry. So this is the school's broom officially. You'll have to keep it stored with the team brooms. However, while you play, it is yours, and no one else should touch it. Understand?"

"Yes, sir," Harry said brightly.

Angelina snorted. "Did he just call Oliver, 'sir'?"

"It's called respect," Oliver said flatly. "If you kept your hands off my arse long enough, you might try it."

Rather than be cowed, Angelina said, "But it's such a cute arse."

"In the air, now you lot," he snapped.

They practiced for the next two hours, going through flying formations around the pitch. While the others complained and grumbled about the paces Oliver set, Harry felt a sense of sheer joy unlike anything he'd ever felt before. More than once he simply whooped with happiness, and felt profoundly disappointed when Oliver declared practice over.

They settled down on the floor of the pitch by the exit. "Well, I don't know about any of you, but I have no doubts about our seeker," Wood said.

"We're going to kill 'em," Georgina declared.

"He's our secret weapon," Oliver agreed. "Okay, you lot. Let's go change and get back to the castle. Lunch is in half an hour, and I'm famished."

"Right oh," Angelina said. She led the way, slowly peeling off her uniform as she went. Harry trailed further and further behind as he realized just how much she was taking off. By the time she reached the changing room, she had nothing left but her shift and a tight pair of panties.

"That's a dangerous girl, Harry," Wood said, bringing up the very rear.

"She's only thirteen," Harry said. "Should she be doing that?"

Oliver frowned, watching as the rest of the team made their way into the changing room. "She's a Muggleborn witch with not many prospects. She's shopping for a husband by using her body as bait. Doesn't matter how young she is—if you give her have a chance she'd shag you rotten."

Harry did not know a lot about that, but he knew that shagging was something girls did to boys that generally made the boys happy. "Is that bad? I mean, all the boys in school before Hogwarts said that shagging was a good thing."

Oliver blinked, and then blushed when he realized he was speaking to a sheltered eleven-year-old. "Er, yeah, to Muggles I suppose. Just, things like that could lead to a bonding, especially if you look 'em in the eyes. Trust, me, Harry, that's not something you want to happen by accident."

The two boys continued walking, watching as Fred and Georgina ducked into the changing room while punching at each other. "Oliver," Harry said. "This lady in Leeds, do you know her?"

"Course I know her, she was a Seventh Year here when I was a Fifth Year."

"And you're going to marry her?"

"Yeah," Oliver said absently.

"Do you love her?"

"Love?" Oliver looked down at Harry with an expression of confusion. "Barely know the lass, really."

This time it was Harry's turn to look confused. "Then why are you getting married?"

"Same reason most wizards end up getting married first time around," Oliver said darkly. "If a witch ever tells you that there's a potion that stops accidental bonding, run like hell, because she's lying. Trust me."

With that, Oliver walked on into the changing room, leaving a confused Harry in his wake.

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

That night, Harry opened his mother's book for the first time. It wasn't that he did not have opportunity or desire to read it sooner. In fact, he had carried it with him everywhere he went—every class. During those few, rare times of solitude, he found himself staring at the unadorned leather cover, occasionally running his fingers over the gold-embossed print of his mother's name. Having never been given a gift, Harry cherished this one not for what it was, but for what it represented.

Finally, though, after the other boys settled into their beds to either read or study, he pulled the book out and stared intently at it before he opened it and stared unabashedly at the woman pictured inside. She had red hair—he never knew that. It was not the same shade of red as Ron or the other Weasleys, though. Rather, it was similar to the red of Susan Bones' hair—a coppery colour with gold highlights that made her look like the living embodiment of Gryffindor, or like the phoenix Professor Dumbledore had occasionally in the Great Hall. Her cheeks were lower than his, and her nose sharper, but her chin was softly curved and her eyes shone with the same green as his own.

She moved in the picture, smiling shyly and waiving occasionally. Harry waived back, before wiping off an unexpected tear from his cheek. "Hello, Mum," he whispered. "Aunt Petunia never said you were so pretty."

She smiled alluringly at him, her hands clasped behind her back. Harry knew he should read, but he found himself just staring down at this alluring, beautiful woman who was his mother, until finally sleep claimed him.

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

"Professor Burbage?"

Charity looked up from her stack of papers (lined Muggle notebook paper, thank you very much) to see Harry Potter once more lingering at her door. It was a nice fact that hers was the last class of the day, so that Harry would not be in danger of being tardy for lingering.

"Yes, Harry?"

"Do you have a moment, Professor?"

She nodded and watched as the boy walked back into the classroom with his book satchel thrown haphazardly around his shoulder. "Er, well, I had a question about something I heard Wood say during our Quidditch practice."

Being familiar with Mr Wood's situation, Charity had an idea of where this was going. "And you're wondering about his marriage contract?"

"He didn't seem happy," Harry suddenly gushed. "On the telly, people are supposed to be happy when they get married, but he seemed mad about it! I don't understand. And Angelina kissed him anyway, and then took her clothes off on the way to the changing room and…" His cheeks flushed. "I just don't understand."

Looking into the boy's earnest, confused eyes, Charity made a snap decision and said, "Harry, have your relatives ever talked to you about sex?"

"Er, I don't think they do that," Harry said quickly.

"I assure you, if you have a cousin, they did at least once. I ask because the answer to your question is deeply tied to differences between Muggles and Magicals in how we are affected by sexual relations."

His cheeks still flushing outrageously, Harry said, "I saw some pictures, once. In one of Uncle Vernon's magazines. Got whipped even though he's the one that forgot to put them up."

"I don't know if we need to go into graphic detail," Charity said quickly. "Suffice it to say, sex is when a man implants his seed, called semen, inside a woman to fertilize her eggs. It is a physical, usually intensely pleasurable experience for Muggles. For witches and wizards, however, it is more so, because we also share magic. And that sharing of magic is where the problem can lie."

His cheeks had gone a ruddy colour and he clung to his satchel like a lifeline. And yet, Harry still listened and understood. "The bonds, you mean?"

"Precisely," Charity said with a pleased nod. "When he was fifteen, Oliver allowed himself to be seduced by an older witch. He was young and confused, and did not realize that there is no such thing as a casual fling in the magical world, being a half-blood and raised in the Muggle world as he was. Much like your Mr Entwhistle, in fact. Unfortunately, Ms White knew exactly what she was doing and did everything in her power to make sure her magic was wholly receptive to his. While I was obviously not there, it is easy to imagine that during their tryst, Mr Wood allowed a purely physical sensation to affect his emotions, as is also too common with young wizards. You boys often grow to love those you are physically attracted to. So in that one moment when he felt affection for her, she looked him in the eyes and snatched onto that feeling with her magic, since emotions affect all magic. In that instant, they formed a bond. She could have demanded his hand in marriage at that moment, but their mothers were able to come to an agreement that he would finish school first, hence the contract. She will be his first wife, and he may take no other until she agrees, and when he does, it will likely be with one of her friends, rather than someone he selects. That's how it is usually done."

Harry stared at the professor in horror. "That sounds so…so…"

"Ruthless?"

Harry nodded speechlessly.

"It is, Harry, quite often. True love matches are very, very rare.'

"Do you think my parents loved each other?"

Charity smiled at him, and said, "I'm sure they did. Your mother was a rather beautiful woman, and James was a prefect and a poster-child for the Griffin Coven—a coven originally formed by Gryffindor himself. They seemed affectionate around each other. But it's not unusual to grow to love someone you bond to. In the meantime, though, I would recommend that for the next few years that you stay with your dorm mates, just to be safe."

"Definitely!" Harry said.

"So, when is your first Quidditch match?" Charity said.

"First November!" Harry said. "We play each house twice, so there will be six games. I can't wait!"

"Neither can I," Charity said. "Run along, now, unless you have any more questions."

"No, no more," he said. "Thanks, Professor!"

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

The first day of November seemed to take forever to arrive, and yet the morning the awaited day dawned, it felt like it came far, far too fast for Harry. He woke up with a strange tingling in his stomach that he could not quite identify, until Seamus jumped out of bed a minute before Percy's morning torture session, and screamed, "Quidditch today!"

While Ron sat up screaming like a four year old girl being forced to watch Barbie Dolls put to the lighter-fluid aerosol deodorant torch (Harry watched Dudley do that to Suzette McKinley's dolls one year) Harry's stomach clenched into a tight, painful ball. Seamus, ignoring both Ron's effeminate scream and the even more effeminate cursing that followed, grabbed Harry by the hand and pulled him out of his bed.

"Get moving, Harry! The game starts in only four hours!"

Seamus ran out of the room to run up and down the corridor, announcing at the top of his lungs that it was Quidditch day. The three remaining boys heard the buzz of a spell that cut Seamus off mid-shout. A moment later the petrified boy floated into the room at the wand point of a devilishly grinning Percy Weasley.

"There is an unspoken rule in Gryffindor tower that perhaps none of you runts has had explained to you yet, so I shall do the honors," the prefect said. "On Saturday mornings, do not wake up the prefect. Waking up the prefect will result in your tiny monkey arses being petrified and locked in a wardrobe until after breakfast. Understand?" With that, he levitated the still petrified boy over to the wardrobe and shoved him inside.

He turned to leave, but paused at the door. "Anyone who lets him out before I come back joins him. Oh, and good luck, Potter. Only four hours to the game."

"Er, thanks."

"If you don't catch the Snitch, we _will_ kill you." Percy said this without smiling before he left.

Terrified, Harry looked at Ron. "He was joking, right?"

Ron shrugged. "I don't know. Quidditch is pretty important. They probably won't kill you, though. I heard they don't have a reserve Seeker yet."

Harry's stomach cramped harder.

Having survived two months of school, the students maintained the routine with little oversight. . This was good, since Percy Weasley did not appear interested in providing such oversight. Nor did Elfaba, caught up as she was in other duties, not to mention her NEWT studies and, if rumour were true, a recently graduated wizard name Derwick.

Despite the lax supervision that Sunday, Harry, Ron, Neville, and yes, even Seamus ("What's he going to do, paralyze the Seeker right before the game?" Harry asked when he cast a _Finite_ on Seamus) walked down to breakfast together in a clump, instinctively avoiding the larger clusters of girls that prowled the castle like schools of barracuda.

The other boys piled up their plates with bangers and eggs, toast and jam, and for Neville a pile of baked beans. Harry, though, found himself feeling queasy just looking at the food. "Eat, Harry!" Ron said around a mouth full of eggs, bangers and a large, still identifiable piece of toast—mushed into his mouth together

"Er, I think I'm going to be sick," Harry said. He turned and left the table, holding his stomach as he ran toward the tower. He wasn't even out of the Great Hall when a pair of arms caught his, sending with it a shock of unexpected magic. Harry looked up in surprise to see Angelina Johnson grinning tightly at him.

"Don't worry, Harry, I'll help you," she said in a sultry tone.

"I…I…I'm fine, really," Harry said desperately.

He was intimately, horrifyingly aware of the soft flesh pressing against his arm as she held onto him tighter. "I'm your teammate, Harry," she said, staring at him with an intensity that made his stomach clench even harder. Her magic was virtually boiling in her chest, and it looked almost as if it were reaching out for him, like fiery claws.

Harry's stomach stopped clenching; it heaved. The vomit exploded before he could even turn away and he backed off, still holding his stomach, as Angelina stood with both arms raised above her head, staring down at the vomit covering her robes in disgust. "You…you fuck!" she screamed.

"I'm sorry!" Harry said desperately. "I didn't mean to!"

"You owe me big time for this, Potter!" she growled.

"No, he doesn't." Harry turned gratefully to see an angry Oliver Wood striding toward them. "I saw what happened. He was obviously sick already, and you had no one to blame but yourself for not letting him go, even though McGonagall told you already not to touch him. You have a death wish for the team, Angelina? Do you want to get kicked off on the day of our first game?"

"Oh fuck you, Wood," she shouted.

"Not if you were the last witch in England," he snapped. "Go get cleaned up, and pray to Morgana I don't kick you off them team anyway. Go!"

Still cursing, she removed her wand and started spelling herself clean as she walked away. "Alright, there?" Wood asked when she was gone.

"I didn't mean to…"

"Harry, puking on her was probably the best thing you could have done. I saw the look in her eye." He wrapped an arm around Harry's shoulders and walked the First Year back to the tower. "So, are you really sick, or nerves, do you think?"

"Nerves," Harry admitted.

"Thought as much. Here, take this." He handed over a vial of a soothing blue potion.

"Is that the Ordering Potion?" he asked.

Oliver wood blinked. "Er, well, no, it's a calming potion, but they're very similar. Same ingredients, just brewed differently. How'd you know?"

"It's blue."

The Seeker captain looked at the vial, then at Harry. "Looks like water to me. Must be an Aether thing. Anyway, take a swig. It'll be out of your system by the time the game starts, but it'll let you calm down enough to maybe get a bite to eat. Got snacks in your room?"

"Ron's god a load of biscuits and such from his mum," Harry said.

"Good. Have a few biscuits to tide you over, read, do whatever you need to calm down, and stay in your room. I promise, Harry, you'll do fine. I don't care that much if we win or lose the opener, just as long as we win all the closers. Now get on with you."

"Thanks, Wood."

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

Angelina refused to look at Harry when he arrived in his Quidditch uniform. The rest of the team looked understandably nervous. With the exception of Wood, this was the first game ever for all of them. The twins were wrestling and punching each other while laughing uproariously, while Katie paced the floor wringing her thumbs.

Alicia sat in a corner with her eyes squeezed shut and the palms of her hands pressed against her brows. Wood was giving them all a speech no one was listening to, while outside Harry could hear voices roaring and cheering.

"Are you ready?" Wood shouted, shocking all of them out of their various pre-game rituals.

"Yes!" they all shouted, even Harry.

"Then let's go!" Wood mounted his broom and shot out of the team room in the stands, followed immediately by the three chasers, the Weasley twins, and finally Harry. They took their standard lap around the field, and Harry fought down a new bout of queasiness at the sheer number of people watching him. It wasn't just students, he saw. There were adult wizards in the stands as well!

He flew up behind Wood, while the Slytherins emerged and did their lap as well. When they arrived in their formation opposite the Gryffindors, Harry saw Flint smiling evilly at him. In fact, all the Slytherins were grinning darkly—all of them were older, larger and meaner looking, especially the girls.

On the ground below, Madame Hooch walked out onto the pitch with the play box. "Alright, I want a nice, clean game!" she shouted. She opened the box and immediately the golden Snitch shot up and away into the sky.

Next came the Bludgers, which rocketed into the sky, and finally she grabbed the Quaffle and tossed it into the air between Wood and Flint as team captains.

Wood started to reach for it, only to have Flint punch him in the face, spin his broom around until the straw struck the handle of Wood's broom and sent him spinning away, and then kicked the Quaffle to his chasers, who in a second were zooming toward Gryffindor's unprotected goals.

"That's a foul!" Hooch said.

"It's ten points too!" Flinch said, still grinning. "Welcome to the big time, runts!"

It didn't get any better. The Slytherins punched, kicked and fouled with impunity, completely unconcerned with the penalty shots afforded Gryffindor. Angelina, Alicia and Katie actually even made a few shots, but not enough to negate the huge lead the Snakes had built over the young, inexperienced Gryffindor team.

Harry looked desperately for the Snitch, as desperate to end the game as for the points. In fact, after half an hour catching the Snitch wouldn't have made a difference in the outcome. Slytherin was up by a hundred points anyway and the Snitch was only worth fifty. That first punch had shaken Wood, and his performance suffered because of it.

The only members of the team holding their own were the Weasleys. Fred and Georgina took a near fanatical joy in slamming the Bludgers, either at each other or the opposing team, and scored at least three good, solid hits. The Slytherin beaters were just as vicious, but Fred and Georgina took the abuse in stride in order to continue dishing it out.

At two hundred points under, Harry saw the snitch. He did not try to be subtle or sneaky—he shot off at top speed, moulding himself to his broom to reduce his drag. He could feel the Slytherin seeker cursing and trying to follow, but he didn't care.

He couldn't win the game, but he could at least end the abuse. He approached at an angle, knowing instinctively the Snitch would not stay put, and in fact it darted away just as he thought. Because of his angle, a quick adjustment put him right on the tail of the golden ball. He reached out, his fingers so close he could feel the wind of its wings brushing against his fingertips.

Suddenly his broom stopped. Having learned his lesson the first time, Harry was not completely thrown, but the sudden cessation of momentum sent him flipping over the handle by one hand. He hung on for dear life, since he was easily a hundred feet above the pitch, and dangled helplessly at the end of his broom.

The Slytherin beaters did not hesitate, and the Weasleys were at the wrong angle to stop them. Harry had time to see an iron ball shooting at him like a cannon ball before he felt a crushing pain and a loud _CRACK_ing sound that echoed in his head. And then everything went dark.

* * *

sp

**Author's Note**: Very special thanks to Teufel1987, JR and Miles for beta reading.


	9. Aftermath

A/N: Review Responses are running a bit late but should be posted later this afternoon. My first priority was getting the chapter out. Thank you all for reading.

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**Chapter Nine: Aftermath**

Harry became aware of the colours first—scintillating, brilliant colours dancing just on the edge of his awareness, like a rainbow bouncing just offstage of his perception. As the colours grew brighter, it developed a shape, until it actually began to resemble a ghost—a clumping of brilliant, pulsing magic in the vague outline of a person, with balls of magic at the forefront of what would be a face. Another hovered a few feet away in the darkness of Harry's closed eyes—not nearly as bright.

As the colours solidified, he became aware of a new sensation—that of sound. With awareness of the sound, came clarity of voices and the precision of words: "…jinxed!"

The voice sounded like Professor McGonagall, and seemed to come from the weaker silhouette of magic.

"Oh, of that I have no doubt." This new voice sounded ancient and dry, and yet there was power laced within the tones of the voice that made Harry feel comforted. He realized it was the voice of the Headmaster, who was sitting by his bed. "From what I have observed, Mr Potter learns from his mistakes. Having lost his seat on a broom the first time, I never saw him do so again. Further, the broom stopped in just the perfect location to give the beaters their shot. If not for Professor Snape's quick thinking, we may have lost the lad."

"But who?" McGonagall said.

"I have only suspicions, and no way to prove those," Dumbledore said. "But surely we both knew of the possibility. Lily's Will explained the necessity of placing him with her sister. She knew she had enemies, and it should not be so shocking those same enemies have their eyes on young Mr Potter. Given Petunia's history with magic, I knew that it would never be a caring home, but I knew at least he would be safe from those actively seeking to do him harm."

"Until now," McGonagall remarked darkly.

"Indeed, until now. And it appears our young patient is awake. You can open your eyes now, Mr Potter."

Harry's eyes snapped open, only to squeeze shut again when the ambient light of the magic flooded his brain. He started whispering the cantrip he read in his mother's book on the very first page of text, and almost immediately the flow slowed to something tolerable and he opened his eyes again.

He saw McGonagall standing at the foot of a plain bed in a hall lined with similar beds—the Hospital Wing, he supposed. Slowly, he turned and saw Dumbledore up close for the very first time, startled when the man's ghost-like magic still stood out just under his skin, making him appear almost translucent. "Are you a ghost?" he said in a dry throat.

"What?" McGonagall said.

Dumbledore, though, smiled. The magic in his eyes sparkled brilliantly and seemed almost to reach out to Harry in a soothing fashion. "I am very old, Harry," Dumbledore said in a kindly tone. "As we age, our magic grows more obvious to those who can see it, while at the same changing our bodies. So I look like a ghost to you?"

"I'm sorry sir."

"Nonsense, my boy. Your mother said I looked like a Christmas tree the first time I met her. I had the pleasure of meeting a young lady who will start next year who said I looked like a heliotrope. It is better to be seen in a unique light, than to not be around to be seen at all, wouldn't you say?"

"Yes, sir," Harry said quickly. His shoulders slumped as he looked at McGonagall. "I'm sorry we lost, Professor."

"The season's only begun, Mr Potter," she said. "However, it was a particularly brutal game and the Slytherins were docked house points by Professor Hooch for their conduct. Given the play, though, I would understand if you wish to wait a year to play more."

"What? No!" Harry said quickly. Then, remembering the company, said in a softer tone, "No, thank you, I mean. I would like to keep playing if I could."

"I'm glad to hear that, Mr Potter," McGonagall said. "Have no worries. Not only do I have confidence in you, I have faith. If not this year, then the next, but I have no doubt you will make Gryffindor proud."

"Thank you, Professor."

Blushing, Harry looked down at his hands in his lap—they looked so small compared to the pale, hairless hands that rested on Professor Dumbledore's. His hands did not move at all; did not twitch even. "Professor, did someone really try to hurt me?"

"You heard?" McGonagall said.

Harry nodded.

"I'm afraid so, Harry," Dumbledore said softly. "Has Professor McGonagall discussed with you how your parents truly died?"

"Ron told me a little," Harry admitted. "You-Know-Who…"

"Call him Voldemort, Harry," Dumbledore said.

"Okay, well, Voldemort came to our house and killed my mum and dad, but when he tried to kill me his curse rebounded and he blew up."

"Succinct, if somewhat inaccurate," Dumbledore said. "It was a terrible time, you must understand. Voldemort targeted primarily wizards, Harry, not just as his victims, but also to be supporters. At the height of the war, he had nearly half the wizards in all of the United Kingdom fighting for him, with still more having crossed the Channel from the mainland. He broke up Covens, convincing wizards to turn against their witches, even their own wives in some cases. Our society was paralyzed by the sheer number who supported him. It seemed as if he would win, and with his victory would come the end of wizarding society as we know it."

"What happened?" Harry asked, enthralled.

"Well, this is where it becomes interesting," Dumbledore said, slipping into the tone of a masterful story teller. "Voldemort was after something. We don't know what, but he seemed to believe your parents had it. Or perhaps he feared James forming a new coven. Aethers are sometimes known as actuators, since they can often increase the power of their chosen through the bond. Given that your mother was such, it was possible if she overcame her jealously that Lily could have aided James in bonding another three women. That would have formed a new coven, with representation in the Wizengamot. It might have been enough to tip the balance of power in the Wizengamot and the Sabbats to give Minister Bagnold the political backing she needed to take the fight to Voldemort. Regardless of his reasons, he chose to target your family."

Harry sat so completely absorbed he had not even noticed Madame Pomfrey walk around the bed to check on him. "What happened next?" He asked. Some small, irrational part of his mind hoped that the Headmaster would tell him they beat back Voldemort and lived happily ever after, even though the rational part of his mind knew that was nonsense.

"Your parents went into hiding, but were betrayed by their dearest friend. Voldemort found them and he and your father fought a tremendous duel—you can see the damage in the living room of that home to this day. James was talented and powerful, and magical forensics has proven that he hurt Voldemort badly. Sadly, Voldemort had undergone many dark rituals to increase his power, and he overcame James. But he made a mistake, one common to many wizards. He assumed all the power was in James, and did not count on Lily being nearly as powerful as her husband. Moreover, Lily employed Aether-based magics she herself researched and perfected, for which Voldemort had little defense.

"What happens next is speculation, you must understand, but my guesses tend to be better than most. It is my belief that your mother, in fighting to save you, employed soul magic. It was a terrible magic, considered by many to be dark, but employed in this case with the purest love. She shattered her own soul, bathing you in its energy and vastly weakening Voldemort's soul in the process. That action of hers ended her life, but at the same time ripped away many of the rituals and protections Voldemort had enacted upon himself. He thought himself victorious, I'm sure, and turned his wand on you. But that was when he learned just how powerful and brilliant your mother was."

"What happened?" Harry breathed.

"The act of casting the Killing Curse, Harry, strains the soul of the caster. It is a spell which requires pure hate to cast. Voldemort, being a creature of hate, had little trouble employing it. However, in doing so, the blow to his fractured soul broke it, quite literally. His curse warped into a self-destructive energy that struck the soul-shield your mother gave you and rebound back to its caster, shattering his body just as the initial casting shattered his soul. The explosion destroyed your entire room, save the corner where one little baby miraculously survived."

The old wizard leaned forward and passed a dry, leathery finger against Harry's cheek, coming away with a single tear. "Since that day, many wizards have called you The Boy Who Lived, the only person to ever survive the Killing Curse. This is true enough, but the true heroes that night were James and Lily Potter."

"Thank you for telling me," Harry finally said, when he could find words. "No one has ever told me the whole story before."

"Then it was my pleasure to be able to do so. Read the book Professor Burbage gave you. Your mother was truly a remarkable witch, and has left you a legacy that will do great good when you are older. In the meantime, know that I and the other professors are working to ensure your safety. Just remember to stay with your friends, and do not leave the castle without supervision."

"Yes, Professor."

"Well, he's healed up right as rain," Madam Pomfrey said from behind the boy. "You were injured on Saturday, so you've not missed any classes, but you will be a mite sore tomorrow, just be warned."

"Thank you, Madame."

"Well, Harry, I must be off," Dumbledore said. "Professor McGonagall will escort you back to your dormitories. Be well, and have a good night."

"Thank you, Professor!"

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

"Mr Potter," McGonagall said. "Before we enter the Common Room, you should be aware that Oliver and I have removed Mss Johnson from the starting roster for an indeterminate period of time. Her replacement will be Lee Jordan, a friend of Fred and Georgina's. During the try-outs he was a close second, and I feel he will be a good addition to the team."

"But why…?"

"She put you in danger, Harry, before the game," McGonagall said. "I told her to keep her distance and instead she virtually assaulted you right outside the Great Hall. For that, she has been placed on the reserve team. One more violation and she will be permanently banned from the team altogether."

"Yes, ma'am."

McGonagall patted his shoulders. "I also do not wish you to feel bad about the game. Ours was a young team—we will get better."

"Yes, Professor."

"Mr Potter, I'm afraid there is one more thing, and this may be difficult for you. It is the Headmaster's belief that we should keep news of your jinxed broom to ourselves. As far as the students know, you simply lost control of your broom. I apologize for the embarrassment, but Wood is aware of what really happened and is eager to keep you on the team."

Feeling his cheeks flush, Harry simply nodded.

They arrived at the Common Room and found it filled with upper years studying, talking or just lounging about the various pieces of furniture spread about the space. Everyone, however, paused when Harry and McGonagall stepped past the Fat Lady's portrait that guarded the dorm.

Harry wasn't sure what to expect, but it wasn't to see older students start laughing; he was relatively sure they were laughing at him, not with him, given his lack of laughter. "Shut it you lot!" Wood shouted. "If you were any better, you'd be on the team!"

"At least I know how to stop a broom!" a sixth year shouted.

"Oh shut it, Connor, you can barely get it up in the air!"

"He can't get anything up!"

"Slag!"

"Hell, he did better than Wood did!" another cruel sounding voice said.

McGonagall cleared her throat, and it might as well have been a bomb going off for the instant silence that followed. "Mr Potter has demonstrated that he is the best person for the Seeker position in this House, and will continue to fill that role," she said resolutely. "That is the decision of both the team captain, and myself. If you have issue with the team's performance, take it up with me if you feel that strongly about it."

That statement silenced both the laughter and jibes. "Come on, Harry," Wood said with a bitter glance back at his housemates, "I'll walk you up to your room. Thank you, Professor."

She nodded to Wood before turning to leave the room. In the stairs leading up to the First Year dorms, Wood said, "Don't worry about that, Harry. They'll see. That was a bad start to the whole season, but we learned some valuable lessons, didn't we?"

"Don't fly off your broom in front of opposing beaters?" Harry said.

"And don't let the other team captain punch you at the start of the game," Wood agreed. "Well, here you go. Don't let your roommates give you a hard time. After all, you're the youngest seeker to start here in a century. That should quiet them down."

"Right."

"Remember, we have practice Tuesday, Thursday and Sunday," he said. "I also want everyone to go to the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw game. We're playing the 'Puffs next and it'll be good to see how they're playing."

"Okay, Wood. See you Tuesday."

Harry walked into his dorm room and came to a stop in the middle of the room when he saw what was on the floor.

His mother's face was looking up at him with a sad smile from the author's page of his book, while scattered around it were the other pages of the book, ripped, torn and some burned to little black wisps.

Harry looked up at Ron and saw his roommate looking red-faced and angry, with a bruise on his left cheek. Neville sat on his bed with his face buried in his hands, while in his bed Seamus Finnigan was whistling a jaunty tune while reading the Daily Prophet, whose headline was clearly visible to Harry as it took up the whole page: "_The_ _Boy Who Fell—Harry Potter flubs first Quidditch game_!" Underneath the huge captain was a picture of Harry dangling from the tip of the broom. As he looked, the Bludger slammed into his face and he fell out of the picture frame, only for the whole play to repeat itself.

"Why, hello, Harry!" Seamus said with a huge grin. "Loved the game. Great job representing the house of the Lions there, boyo."

Harry took a halting step into the room until he reached the first destroyed pages of his book. "Why did you do that?" he said, his voice shaking from a storm of emotions he could not even begin to name.

Seamus carefully folded the newspaper until only the front page was visible, and held it up to his face. "Why do you think, you bloody pansy shite? Gryffindor is the house of winners! You were supposed to be good, what the hell is this, then?" He slapped the paper against his leg.

Harry started to tell him about the jinx, but remembered McGonagall telling him not to tell anyone. "Why are you blaming me?" he finally asked. "Catching the Snitch wouldn't have won the game."

"It would've if you'd caught it sooner, you nit!" Seamus said, climbing off his bed. "You know what Gryffindor's known for? House of the Brave. Fire in our veins and all that shite. Then me Da writes me a letter and asks what kind of cowards old McGonagall has running the show to let some stinkin' First Year on, and a captain that gets his arse kicked one play in! It was bloody embarrassing, Harry."

"What gave you the right to destroy my property?" Harry demanded, shaking as shock gave way to a slowly building rage.

"To teach you a lesson, pansy," Seamus snarled. "To teach the other boyos a lesson as well. Gryffindor is for the strong, and I just proved I'm the strong one in this group. Weasley there tried to stop me, and I put him down like a dog. Longbottom didn't even try. We see you holding that book like a bloody snuggy bear! Merlin's saggy balls, I saw you crying over the damn book few weeks back. It's time to grow up, Harry. You might think you're famous, but you're nothing but a stupid pansy boy. You don't deserve to be in Gryffindor, and you don't deserve to be on the Quidditch team."

It was hard for Harry to breathe. "That picture was the first time I'd ever seen my mum," he said in a harsh whisper. "The only picture I had of her."

"Bullocks!" Seamus said with a dismissive grunt. "And what of it? What are you going to do, Boyo? Go cryin' to McGonagall? How 'bout you go feel up Elfaba there, maybe she'll let you cry on her tits. That's all you can do is go crying to the girls, isn't it? You're pathetic, you…"

The fire boiled over, and in a moment of red-hot rage, Harry Potter lost all semblance of control. With a guttural scream he launched himself at the larger, older boy and tackled him to the ground, throwing fists with fervour. Unfortunately, Seamus _was_ older and stronger, and easily flipped Harry onto his back to take his own swings.

The blows did not stop Harry, though. He'd been through worse with Dudley. As the fire boiled hotter and hotter in his chest, he felt a new pressure start to build. Seamus was lost to it, caught up as he was in the heat of the fight. But on the nearby beds, Neville said, "Seamus, you idiot, he's about to have a blow!"

Across from Longbottom, Weasley said, "Let 'em, Neville. Seamus deserves whatever he gets."

Seamus took another vicious swing, and in Harry's chest the fire exploded up and out in a billow of accidental magic. Seamus flew up into the ceiling so hard all the boys heard cracking bone. Harry virtually flew to his feet, glaring up at the stunned boy. Seamus did not immediately fall, and his cheeks moved as if a terrible force were holding up against the ceiling.

Suddenly the force ended and Seamus began to fall, right into the flat of Harry's hand. The smaller boy's visceral scream echoed about the room as a pulse of white magic flashed at the point of contact between his hand and Seamus's chest and sent the larger boy flying across the room.

A moment later Percy Weasley burst into the room, followed by the sixth year prefect, David Jones. "What's going on here?" Weasley demanded.

Jones, however, saw Seamus slumped against the far wall with blood running from his ears, nose and mouth. "Bloody 'ell," the older prefect said. He pulled his wand and incanted a spell Harry never heard before. "Percy, get McGonagall now! The boy's magic is dying!"

Percy's eyes widened before he turned and sprinted from the room. Jones spun about and looked at the three shocked boys. "Who did this?"

Harry shook his head, the fire in his chest suddenly gone. "I…I didn't mean…"

"Potter, figures," the sixth year snarled. "You'll be lucky to avoid Azkaban for this, you little prat. This kid is damned near dead!"

"I didn't mean to!" Harry screamed desperately.

"Tell that to the Wizengamot!"

"You shut up!" Ron shouted. "It was Seamus that did it. He's the one started it, he got what he deserved! It's not Harry's fault."

"Shut it, runt," Jones snarled.

Just then McGonagall ran into the room. She seemed to take everything in with a single gestalt glance before turning her attention to Finnigan. "_Morgana_," she whispered as she ran a series of charms on him. She stood, cast a paralyzing charm on him, and then said to Jones, "Pick him up and come with me."

Turning to Harry, she said, "Potter, you, Weasley and Longbottom are to report to my office right now. Do not leave that office until I, or another professor fetch you. Do you understand?"

Harry nodded his stomach dropping. "Professor, I…"

"Not now, Potter, just go," McGonagall said urgently.

After she left, Weasley said, "I'm sorry, Harry. I tried to stop him."

Seeing the black eye on his roommates face, Harry believed him. "Thanks, Ron."

"I'm sorry too, mate," Neville said. "After he punched Ron I just…I was afraid, Harry. So much for being a Gryffindor."

"Yeah, well look where fighting got me," Harry said bitterly. "Come on, we'd better go. She'll probably just ask you guys some questions, so I bet you won't be in trouble. Just me."

"No way, if you're in trouble, I am too," Ron said resolutely.

Neville raised his chin. "Me too. If I hadn't been so afraid, we could have stopped him together, and this wouldn't have happened."

* * *

sp

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**Author's Note**: Very special thanks to Teufel1987, JR and Miles for beta reading.


	10. Windows To The Soul

A/N-Sorry for the delay in posting. Lots of review to last chapter, which was polarizing to say the least. My responses can by found on my forum here on fanfiction, a link to which is on my profile. I would also like to point out that Harry Potter in this story is 11 years old. He is not a bad-ass, he's not a genius, he doesn't know more than the centuries-old witches and wizards around him. He has a rare ability, but he is not a super-powerful, super-smart master of all he surveys. He's a kid over his head. And if he hurts enough, like most 11 year old boys, he'll cry. As a father of one myself, I'd know. Please try to remember that.

Thank you for reading.

* * *

**Chapter Ten: Windows to the Soul**

Ron screeched when the door opened abruptly, in the process nearly falling out of his chair. Harry and Neville both jumped not because of the door, but because of Ron's reaction. When they turned, though, they saw not Professor McGonagall, but Professor Burbage.

"Mr Weasley, Mr Longbottom, please return to your rooms," the Muggle Studies professor said. "Mr Potter, we need you in the Hospital Wing."

"Good luck, Harry," Ron said.

"Sorry we didn't stop him," Neville added again.

"I know, thanks, guys," Harry said sincerely before following Professor Burbage out into the dimly lit hall. He slowed to a stop when he saw a tall, black-skinned man in crimson-coloured robes waiting only a few feet away. The man's magic was a bright, brilliant flame that gave his dark eyes the look of burning coal.

"Good evening, Mr Potter," the man said in a deep, mellifluous voice. "My name is Kingsley Shacklebolt, an Auror with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. I've been asked to look into what happened today at the Quidditch match, and of course now this."

Harry tried to speak, but he couldn't form words. He felt Burbage's hand on his shoulder and looked up at his favourite professor in terror. "Harry," she said quietly, "he's not here to arrest you. We simply need to know what happened. Mr Finnigan has yet to wake, and is showing signs of a powerful and destructive curse to his magic."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to, you have to believe me!" Harry begged, tears gathering at his eyes.

"Son, we just want to know what happened," Kingsley said kindly. "Come on, let's go see how Mr Finnigan is doing."

The walk to the hospital wing seemed to take hours, though the wall clock when they arrived said it only took ten minutes. He saw Madame Pomfrey standing by a far bed, along with two people in light blue robes with a caduceus on their right breasts.

Behind them, their arms folded across their narrow chests in oddly mirror-like stances stood Dumbledore and Professor Snape. The two men's magic could not be more opposite—Dumbledore's ancient power was like crystallized fire, a flame so old and strong it seemed to almost solidify in his chest. Snape, on the other hand, looked like a blanket of cold, wet night as he stared contemplatively at the boy in the bed.

"Mr Potter, Headmaster," Burbage said.

Harry stumbled and came to a stop, wiping at his red, swollen eyes. "I didn't mean to, I swear!" he said again.

"Didn't meant to what, Mr Potter?" Dumbledore asked with one raised brow.

Harry's shoulders slumped. "I don't even know," he admitted. "I don't even know what I did."

"You stilled his magic, Potter," Snape said in a coolly acerbic tone. "In the same way as the dragon pox. What you've done is worse than turning a person into a Squib. At least Squibs have the benefit of a long life and health from the magic within them. Mr Finnigan is quickly losing his magic entirely, and it's possible he will not survive the process."

Harry's stomach clenched as if someone hit him, and he fought hard not to throw up. "I didn't mean to," he mumbled tearfully again.

"Many murderers don't, the first time," Snape said.

"Severus, enough," Dumbledore said. Though he spoke softly, he still wielded a tone that required immediate compliance. Snape nodded while the headmaster looked closely back at Harry.

"Mr Potter, as you might imagine, this is a serious issue. While I believe you had no true intent to do lasting harm, nonetheless lasting harm is exactly what might happen. We need to see what has occurred. While we have devices to view memories, in the interest of time I need to perform a spell that would allow me to view your memories. I can do this as a licensed Legilimens with the Ministry of Magic, in the presence of representative of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. However, I will not do so without your permission."

"Do you…do you think it would help Seamus?" Harry asked weakly.

"In truth, Harry, I believe it is our only hope."

"Okay, then," Harry said.

"Subject's cooperation has been noted," Shacklebolt said in an officious tone.

The ancient wizard bent over until his brilliant, shimmering blue eyes were mere inches form Harry's. "Think of what happened, Harry, and I'll do the rest."

Harry was expecting something—a waved wand, words of a spell, or even a flash of light. Instead, it was a faint tickling in the back of his mind, like a thought he knew was important but that he could not fully recall.

Dumbledore nodded and backed away. "Mr Finnigan was under the _Imperius_," he said coolly to Shacklebolt. "While the colour of his eyes was a clear indication, with the rather remarkable way Mr Potter perceives magic, it was even more obvious that another's will had supplanted Mr Finnigan's."

"But why?" Burbage said, aghast.

"To elicit a response," Snape said in a cold tone. "To see if the son could do what the mother could. And now we know he can."

"More important, we know what was done," Dumbledore said. He straightened stiffly and looked to the two healers. "You will need to fetch Healer Carlisle, please. We need an Aether to resolve this."

"Yes, Headmaster," one of the healers said.

Pomfrey volunteered her Floo connection, and moments later the two had walked away. "Back to your room, then, Harry," Dumbledore said. "We can discuss this more tomorrow."

"Professor, please," Harry said. "Seamus…I…I thought he was my friend. What does _Imperius_ mean?"

"It is an Unforgiveable Curse, the use of which guarantees a stint in Azkaban," Snape said. "It suborns a person's will and forces them to do whatever the caster wishes."

"So it wasn't really Seamus who tore up my mother's book? Or said those things about me?"

"No, Harry," Dumbledore said.

"Sir, if it's not too much trouble, could I stay until he's alright? I need to see it, sir. Please?"

When Dumbledore looked back at the remaining healer, she shrugged. "We have no idea what Healer Carlisle will say," the women said. "Perhaps we should let Mary decide if it is an issue."

"I'm amenable," Dumbledore agreed. With twinkling eyes he looked back to Harry and nodded. "Have a seat over there, Mr Potter. We will let Healer Carlisle determine if your presence will hurt or hinder."

"Thank you, Professor!" Harry gushed before taking his seat.

Moments later, Madam Pomfrey returned with the first healer, and a second woman also in light blue. Harry found himself staring at her in confusion since her magic looked unlike anything else he had seen. Where everyone else's magic was contained wholly within their body, this young woman's magic seemed to radiate within and without her body in a shimmering, sparkling cloud that surrounded the space several feet in every direction around her. When she looked at him, Harry felt a sudden rush of…well, not music, but a definite tone. It sounded like a symphony orchestra tuning its instruments, at first terribly discordant until it came together in powerful, hair-rising perfection.

"My goodness," a lyrical voice said. The sound of her voice echoed within the perfect tone that seemed to dominate Harry's senses—not taking away, but adding a counterpoint. The woman's voice itself was music to the magic in the air.

"Wow," Harry said. "You sound beautiful!"

"Healer Carlisle?" Dumbledore asked. His voice did not fit within the symphony, adding a mild dissonance to it.

"He's an actuating Aether," came the beautiful voice. "By Morgana, he's actuated himself to my own senses as if he were an audio-phonic Aether. I…Mr Potter, listen closely. It is important that you look away from me, do you understand?"

"You sound so pretty, though," Harry whispered, brought almost to tears at the thought of being away from such a beautiful sound.

"Headmaster, he's starting to bond," the voice said with an urgency like percussion to her music. "It's instinctive. He can't be here!"

Suddenly rough arms grabbed Harry. Cold, hateful wet smothered the flame of the music that dominated Harry's perceptions, and as soon as his mind cleared he realized Professor Snape had carried him out of the Hospital wing. Great, terrible grief struck in the cold emptiness that remained after the music was gone.

"Bring it back!" Harry screamed, trying to fight his way loose from the implacable grip. "Bring the music back! Please, don't take it away! Bring it back!"

Snape ignored him and carried him all the way to the Gryffindor common room. It was already past curfew when he opened the door. Only a few sixth and seventh years were up. The Gryffindor's stared in shock at the sight of Professor Snape holding a struggling, screaming Harry Potter in his arms

"Weasley," he said, spotting the Fifth Year prefect. There was no male seventh year prefect in Gryffindor that particular year. "Show me Potter's room. Now! The little vermin is beginning to irritate me."

Weasley jumped to his feet without comment and led Snape up the stairs to the First Year's room. Snape followed the prefect into the room to find the younger Weasley boy sound asleep, but Longbottom awake. He jumped to his feet when he saw who entered and said, "What's wrong?"

"Go back to your bed," Snape snarled, before slamming Potter down. "Hold him, Weasley," Snape said.

"Leave me alone!" Harry screamed, even while he sobbed. "Bring the music back, please!"

"What's happening, Professor?" Percy asked while fighting to hold the struggling eleven-year-old down.

"None of your concern," Snape said, while at the same time searching his robes before removing a clear potion. He mercilessly grabbed Harry's jaw and pried his mouth open before pouring the potion down Harry's throat, and then immediately forcing the boy's jaw shut until he saw Harry had swallowed it.

Almost immediately Harry's struggles weakened. "Bring it back, please," he sobbed. "It was so beautiful, please…." His last word faded into a deep slumber.

"Five points to Gryffindor for your assistance," Snape muttered. "I am returning to the Hospital Wing. I would tell you not to speak of this, but there would be no point."

With that, Snape strode out of the room. "Blimey, what was that about?" Ron said, rubbing his eyes and yawning. The noise had awakened him.

"Harry being trouble, I suppose," Percy said with a speculative look down at the boy.

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

Mary Carlisle, Hogwarts Class of 1984 and the youngest Master Healer in St. Mungo's, leaned back from the now gently sleeping Seamus Finnigan with a satisfied nod. "It's done." She tiredly looked over to Pomfrey and added, "He's not to do any active magic for ten days minimum. He can attend Muggle and Wizarding studies, but no Charms, Transfiguration or Herbology."

"Even Herbology?" Pomfrey said.

"He can't afford any drain on his magic until his core replenishes itself. Fortunately, Mr Potter's accident did not damage the magic-producing cells within Mr Finnigan's marrow, but it was a close call. The boy would be dead within a fortnight if I had been even an hour later."

"Then we owe you a great debt of gratitude," Dumbledore said. "Before you leave, may I entice you with some tea?"

"Perhaps a little."

"Do you mind if Professors Burbage and McGonagall join us?" Dumbledore asked.

"Of course," Mary said, obviously sensing what the conversation would be about. "Perhaps Madam Pomfrey would like to join as well?"

After thanking and dismissing the two other healers, the five of them made their way to the Headmaster's office. They had just settled in for a light tea when Professor Snape entered the room as well.

"Healer Carlisle," the Potions Master said with a nod. "I gave Mr Potter a sleeping draught. He was extremely emotionally distraught."

"And he will be for the next few days," Mary said with a sad smile. "In fact, I'll probably take a calming potion myself and take the next day off."

"Can you tell us what happened?" Dumbledore asked.

"Simple, I almost bonded to the boy," Mary said, sounding as mystified by the fact as those she spoke to. "It was completely involuntary—I could no more control my magic than he could. In fact, we came close enough that he is going to be suffering from the effects of a pre-bond breaking. I would recommend we keep him on a regimen of calming draught for the next three days and then watch him closely after that."

She stopped when she saw everyone in the room staring at her. Smiling sadly, she said, "It was an Aether effect, Professors. I've read about it, but never experienced it myself. And when you consider that I already have a bonded love match with a good man, that should tell you something."

"Witches can't bond twice," McGonagall said.

"But Aethers can," Mary said. "Which is why, conversely, we don't like to share our men. Ben is a good man and a skilled healer, but he is not the most powerful wizard in the world. I chose him because of the man, not the magic. But when and if I choose for him to bond with another, there's every chance I'll bond with her too, and frankly I'm not sure I want that. I'm sure Mr Potter's mother was in a similar situation."

"The Ministry is going to want to know if Mr Potter was culpable for Mr Finnigan's injury," Snape said from where he stood behind McGonagall's seat.

"If he were older, I would say yes," Mary said. "However, the damage was too disorganized and ineffective to have been more than accidental."

"Ineffective?" Pomfrey exclaimed. "Mr Potter almost destroyed that boy's magic!"

"If it had been me attacking him," Mary said with calm assurance, "he would have died in an instance of true soul death. For me, it would be intentionally pulling his soul out of harmony. I assure you, as a healer, I could do so with any witch or wizard. For Mr Potter, it would be visually based, but with the same effect. I believe there is also a tactile aspect to his ability. If he had any skill or control, he could have killed Mr Finnigan instantly. I will testify that this was a case of Aether-based accidental magic resulting from extreme provocation. He was provoked, was he not?"

"Mr Finnigan was under the _Imperius_ curse," Dumbledore confirmed. "It is Professor Snape's opinion that he was being used to test whether or not Mr Potter possessed native soul magic by actors unknown."

"Well, that question has been thoroughly answered," Mary said. She stood to leave before tumbling to her knees. Pomfrey rushed to her side. "Goodness, that took a lot out of me," she said with an embarrassed chuckle.

"Please feel free to use my Floo," Dumbledore said.

"Thank you," Mary said. Before she reached the fire, she said, "I have heard a rumour that a second Aether will be starting here next year. Is that true?"

"Why yes," McGonagall answered.

Mary stopped and turned to face everyone in the room. "Then listen, do not let Harry even see this girl, ever, until he is old enough to bond. It would be a completely involuntary bond for both of them."

"Thank you for the warning, Mary," Dumbledore said. "And for your help today. Good night, my dear."

"Good night." With that, Mary Carlisle disappeared in a billow green flame.

"Well, for next year at least, keeping him and Ms Lovegood apart should be easy enough," McGonagall said. "Just keep him out of the Great Hall during the sorting and I can't think of another time when they would have opportunity to see each other at a short enough distance to risk a bonding. The occasional meal should be safe enough, as long as they are kept at their separate tables."

"Indeed," Dumbledore said. "Charity, given that Mr Potter has shown you a certain level of trust, I think it best if you give him another copy of his book. Mr Finnigan unfortunately was quite thorough in his destruction of the first. Mr Potter is likely unaware that it is a widely read book and so multiple copies are available."

Charity smiled sadly. "I'll let him know."

"Is the boy to be punished, then?" Snape asked.

"He has suffered enough tonight," Charity snapped at the Potions Master.

"I'm inclined to agree, Severus," Dumbledore said. "However, it is ultimately Professor McGonagall who will decide, given it happened within her house."

"I will discuss it with the other boys before I decide," McGonagall said. "In the meantime, it is late, and I'm sure you are all tired. I bid you a good night."

She and Pomfrey left together. Snape lingered, looking from Burbage to Dumbledore. "The boy is a walking disaster waiting to happen," he said darkly. "He has no control over his emotions at all. It is only luck and his own nervous stomach that prevented him from falling into Ms Johnson's clutches. I know he's important, Headmaster, but he cannot be allowed to go on like this. If you are not careful, the boy will bond before he is ready, and the precious Boy-Who-Lived will end up a vegetable for the rest of his life."

"Then perhaps he needs to learn Occlumency," Burbage suggested.

Snape raised a questioning brow. "What?" she demanded. "I'm a Squib, internalized magics are the only kind I can practice. I can't teach him because I can't perform _Legilimency_, but I am accomplished _Occlumens_."

"I am a professor and a Head of House," Snape said. "Not to mention I have two rather… demanding wives. When would I have time to train a mere First Year in the arts of the mind?"

"I have every faith you shall make time," Dumbledore said with a familiar twinkle in his eyes.

"Headmaster?" Snape asked, confused.

"Severus, someone tried to kill Mr Potter during his Quidditch match, and then used an Unforgivable Curse to escalate a boyhood scuffle into a life-threatening event. Until we find out who is behind these attempts, Mr Potter is in danger. Why _Imperius_ a boy to pick a fight when they could just as easily do the same to a witch to seduce Harry? As you pointed out, Mr Potter comes from an unhealthy home and is emotionally unstable as a result. It would be frighteningly easy for a witch to bond him, which would be as good as killing him."

"But Occlumency would give him some level of defense," Charity pointed out. "Occlumens have been proven to have conscious control over their magic, which would include the bonding instinct."

"Such Occlumens are masters with decades of experience."

"Or one beautiful, red-headed girl who had attained mastery so thorough she was able to love her friend without forming a bond with him," Dumbledore said softly.

Snape reared back as if struck.

"It is not an easy thing I ask of you," the headmaster continued. "I am aware of that. But we both know Harry is too important to risk. Please, Severus, if not for me, then for Lily. Do this for him."

"Why can't you teach him?"

"Because I am too old, Severus. Just that one instance of Legilimency with him was trying. His mind is painful to me," Dumbledore admitted sadly.

Snape looked down, cheeks flushing. "I will not tolerate any foolishness from the boy," he said. "He may have his mother's eyes, but that is James Potter's face I have to look at."

"You are a good man, Severus," Dumbledore said.

"And you are a poor liar, Albus. Good night."

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

The next morning, being a Monday, saw Percy Weasley walked into the room to gather the first years. Ron and Neville were both dressed and ready, having learned the routine long ago. Harry, though, remained in bed with his curtains drawn.

"Come on, Potter, time to get up!" Percy said sharply.

"No!" came the muffled reply.

With a sigh, Percy flicked his wand, causing the curtains to yank open abruptly. With a muffled scream of anger, Harry pulled the bed's comforter over his head. "Potter, it is time to go!" Percy said. "I'll not have the First Years tardy under my watch! Get up now!"

He stepped across the floor and pulled the comforter off. In doing so, he was completely unprepared for Harry to fly off the bed screaming in pre-adolescent rage while flailing his fists. Percy was so startled he did not have a chance to defend himself and the two tumbled to the ground with Harry on top screaming, cursing like a sailor and punching as hard as he could.

"What is happening here?" McGonagall said as she walked in.

"Percy tried to wake up Harry and Harry just went mental!" Ron said.

McGonagall ground her jaw, lifted her wand, and in a second Harry froze. Percy pushed the boy off and scrambled to his feet, flushed but relatively unscathed. "That bloody little…"

"Mr Weasley!" McGonagall said. "Did you not see the note in your prefect's box instructing you to let Mr Potter alone? He is excused from classes today."

Percy started from McGonagall to Potter and then back again. "Er, no, I didn't Professor. I'm sorry. Is he…what…?"

"With all that happened yesterday, Mr Potter is distraught and will be excused from classes for today and tomorrow, and possibly Wednesday as well. Now, please take his classmates to breakfast."

"Yes, Professor."

When they were gone, McGonagall released Harry, who scooted into the corner of the room in a ball of misery. She came and sat on the edge of the bed, looking down at the boy. "Mr Potter?" she asked.

"I'm sorry," he whimpered. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, please don't…."

Alarmed, McGonagall knelt down, took the boy's hand and squeezed it enough for him to feel the magic of the contact. It immediately broke whatever dark place his mind had retreated to. He looked up at her with red, swollen eyes, and sobbed. That single sound seemed like a dam breaking, and he started wailing with such intense, emotional agony it actually made McGonagall's magic cringe under his touch.

Carefully, she removed a potion. "This is a calming potion, just like Wood gave you before your game," she said. "It will help with what you're feeling."

He took it without comment, and in moments the worst of his crying dried. "It feels like someone stabbed me in the chest," he muttered while wiping his nose. "I don't even know what happened. I don't cry—not like this. Why does it hurt so much?"

"Oh child," McGonagall said. "You almost formed a bond with Healer Carlisle. Neither of you were at fault, but it was very, very dangerous. Professor Snape probably saved your life by removing you."

"I'm sorry, I…"

"Lad, it wasn't your fault," McGonagall said sternly. "It was a condition of your mutual magic. Knowing that doesn't make the hurt any less, but it is not your fault, and no one blames you."

"What about Seamus?"

"Mr Finnigan will make a full recovery."

Harry sagged a little before burying his face in his hands. "When you came last summer I thought everything would be better, but it's not. I'm still a freak, even among the freaks."

McGonagall took the boy's tear-streaked face in her hands and forced him to look at her. "Listen to me, Harry," she said firmly. "You are not a freak. You are your mother's son—if you stand out it is because you are extraordinary, not freakish. I'll not have you speak that way about yourself, not within my hearing. I owe it to both you, and your parents. Do you understand me?"

He wept a little more even as he nodded.

"Good lad. Now, I'll have the elves bring you breakfast. Stay in your room and read or relax. We'll talk again tomorrow. Right now, you need peace and quiet for the potion to work. If you need anything, ask for an elf."

"Okay, Professor," Harry said in a small voice.

With effort, McGonagall pushed herself up right before hoisting Harry to his feet. He climbed back into bed, since he was still in his over-sized pyjamas, and turned his back to her.

With a nod, she left the room to ensure the boy had food to eat.

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**Author's Note**: Very special thanks as always to Teufel1987, JR and Miles for beta reading.


	11. Learning the Game

A/N: Chap 10 review responses are available in my forums here on ff dot net. This is a much lighter chapter than the last few, so hopefully folks will enjoy the change of pace. Thank you all for reading!

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**Chapter Eleven: Learning the Game**

A quiet, subdued Harry Potter returned to classes Wednesday morning, and then only because he begged to. Two days of contemplative isolation was simply too much. Despite the relative isolation of the First Years from the rest of the school, rumours still made their way along the hallowed halls of Hogwarts to greet him when he did return.

Students knew that the very evening he was released from the Hospital Wing after flubbing his first Quidditch game, he had put his roommate into the wing with such bad injuries that healers had to come from St. Mungo's. No one was punished. Whispers began to arise of special treatment for the Boy Who Lived, and unfortunately none of the professors said anything to dispel those rumours since the truth of an assassination attempt was deemed too frightening to be disseminated among the public.

Within the small group of First Year boys, the dynamic was more contained and more subtle. There was distrust and whispers, cold shoulders and angry glares. The only thing that gave the other boys pause was Ron's and Neville's staunch support that Harry did nothing wrong and that it was all just a misunderstanding.

"Yeah, he almost kills his roommate, and it's all just a misunderstanding for the bloody Boy-Who-Lived," Kevin Entwhistle said Wednesday afternoon before Wizarding Studies, while Draco Malfoy laughed.

"My father says that there was an official inquiry at the Ministry," the blond Slytherin added. "Potter is facing criminal charges."

Harry sat in silence as the others talked about him, staring at the diagram of the Ministry of Magic and the different departments. The talk had gone on all day, and despite Ron and Neville's attempts to defend him, he found he just didn't care. The Calming Draughts helped ease the pain of his almost-bond a little, but they couldn't make him care about anything other than the aching, hollow feeling in his chest. He didn't even understand _why_ he felt so empty, just that it felt as if a part of him had been torn away.

Fortunately the professors by and large ignored him all day, and he muddled through. Finally, came the last two hour stretch of Muggle Studies. Today they were studying Muggle chemistry, which was a challenging subject at any time. Harry struggled all through class, only tenuously grasping the concepts Professor Burbage was attempting to teach. Shortly before the bell rang, though, a piece of paper appeared on his text book with the note: "Please stay after class."

After the other boys shuffled out for their free hour before dinner, Harry placed his books in his bag and simply stayed in his seat. Across from him, at her desk, Charity Burbage watched him with a sympathetic smile.

"Harry, would you like to know what happened, and why you feel the way you do?"

He perked up, if for no other reason than the possibility of learning the truth. "You know?"

"I do. Come here, I don't like to shout after hours."

Harry came and took a seat right beside her desk; he jumped when tea appeared. "Well, I've actually wanted to have this conversation with you for a while, all of the staff have," Charity began. "It was decided that it would be best if I were the one to discuss it with you, however. What you experienced, Harry, was the initial formation of a bond."

Harry stared at her and almost dropped his tea. "But you said…you said bonds could hurt me this young."

"And it did, Harry, didn't it?" she asked gently.

He placed the tea back down and nodded.

"Fortunately, the healer recognized what was happening. She asked for help and Professor Snape got you away. You must understand, it was completely involuntary on both your parts. While female aethers are rare, they are not unheard of, and they do not bond together at first glance. However, male aethers are so rare we don't have much documentation on how they relate to other aethers. Until today, that is."

"So what happened?"

"According to Healer Carlisle, the moment you looked at each other your mutual magical cores instinctively attempted to form a magical bond. She is married and bonded already; it should not have been possible. However, it happened. The formation got perilously close to completion, which is why it hurts you so badly. Fortunately, it was stopped in time, and you _will_ feel better. I promise."

"I just feel empty now," Harry said dejectedly.

"Well, I do have something for you that might help a little." From her desk Charity removed another copy of Flying the Fifth Element: An Aether's Guide to Mind Magics. Harry's eyes bulged as he took the book and opened it to see his mother's picture.

"But, how? Seamus destroyed it!"

"Harry, this is a very popular book. It was the first published discussion of aether magic since Paracelsus, and a well-written book on top of that. Wizard books rarely sell more than ten thousand copies worldwide—this book sold over twenty-five thousand. If you ever lose this one, you can find another in any magical bookstore."

"Oh," Harry said. He deflated, somehow feeling disappointed. For a time, he imagined that the book was a message just for him from his mother; the realization that tens of thousands of people read it seemed to infringe on his imagined intimacy.

"It is still a valuable book, though, Harry," she said. "Healer Carlisle swears by it, and I think you should as well. There is also something else. You will receive tutoring in a specific type of mind-magic on Friday mornings during your first free study period. It is our hope that this tutorship and your mother's guidance will help prevent any more accidents."

"Oh, okay," Harry said with a nod. "Is that all?"

She jumped a little when she reached over the edge of her desk and took his hand. "It will get better, Harry. I promise."

"Professor, er, are you able to make bonds?"

"Yes, Harry," she said with a sad smile. "My condition prevents me from actively using my magic, but bonds are emotion-based and can form without any active magical awareness. However, claiming a wizard is competitive for witches, and squibs cannot compete against healthy, whole witches. If I ever become too lonely, then I would likely take the Veil and go Muggle."

"I'd marry you!" Harry blurted before his cheeks turned such a shade of red as to look bruised. "I mean, when I'm older. Professor Dumbledore's like two hundred years old. I mean, after that long does a few years really matter?"

A part of Charity wanted to laugh hysterically at the thought of this earnest young boy offering to marry her. At the same time, though, the small, lonely part of her soul exulted. "Oh Harry, if I were any younger, I might take you up on the offer. However, I think you are going to have enough of a struggle with the girls your own age."

Harry looked down in disappointment. "Bet none of them are as nice as you, though."

"You won't know that for sure until you get a chance to meet them. Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on your point of view, that won't be for a while yet. But you begin to see why we do not have co-educational classes, yes?"

Harry nodded his head fervently. "I like it. None of the boys show off like they did in my other school or act like they have to prove something. It's better this way."

"I agree," she said. "Now, let's talk Quidditch. I hope after all the pain you went through, your team learned something from the match…"

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

After Harry left, Charity sighed in relief. The discussion went much, much better than she hoped. She was just finishing up her grading when she heard and knock and looked up to see Quirinus Quirrell standing at her door.

She felt a momentary flush of heat as the man's intense dark eyes regarded her. "Yes, Professor?"

"I have a confession to make," he said as he stepped inside, arms crossed, his turban positioned as always on his head. "I'm afraid I eavesdropped on your conversation with young Mr Potter."

Charity stifled a flash of irritation—Quirinus Quirrell was a powerful, dangerous wizard, known to have wiped out several Vampire nests in his time. "Why in Morgana's name would you do that?"

"I was worried about the boy," he admitted. "And, in truth, somewhat envious of those who have made a connection with him. James Potter was my first instructor at the Auror Academy, and in some ways I feel I owe it to Mr Potter to watch over him."

A blossom of heat returned. "Well, I'm sure it's appreciated. So what can I help you with?"

"Me? Nothing," He looked intently at her again. "I just wanted to say that you are a remarkable woman, Charity, for reaching out to him like you have. It is difficult, even in the best of times, to be a wizard in this world. I feel better knowing you have helped him as much as you have. So, thank you."

She had a hard time meeting his gaze as her cheeks flushed. "Well, you're welcome of course, but it is my pleasure. Mr Potter is a remarkable young man."

"Indeed he is." He smiled intently at her. "Well, I must go. But, if you are amenable and time permits, I would like to join you for tea sometime."

Charity's heart skipped a beat as she stared at this powerful, handsome wizard in shock. "Oh, well, I…I suppose that would be quite nice, thank you."

"Until then, I'll see you at dinner." His smile left her trembling.

When he was gone, she leaned back in her chair and said, "Now that's a wizard."

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

The Gryffindor Quidditch team sat in a tight, sullen group as they watched the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws play two weeks later. Some of the sullenness came from the replacement of Angelina Johnson with Fred's friend, Lee Jordan. Katie and Alicia did not bother to hide their displeasure at having their friend Angelina replaced, and Harry received his share of that anger for being the reason for Angelina's absence.

However, between Oliver's almost hyperactive enthusiasm and the excitement of the game, it was difficult for anyone on the team to remain angry for long. This was made especially true because of how different the game was to the Gryffindor experience. The 'Claws and 'Puffs played a hard but fair game, with hardly any penalties at all.

"Look at the Chaser formations!" Oliver crowed. "That's exactly how Jack, Jen and Pauline played under Charlene Weasley, the last year we won the cup!" Oliver said. "Do you see now why we do the drills we do? Those were the drills Charlene cooked up that helped us win before. If we just keep doing them, I'm sure we can start winning again!"

For Harry, it was the very first game he had actually watched, and he found the experience thrilling. The Seekers did more than just fly around in circles looking for the Snitch—they engaged the enemy Chasers and challenged the Beaters; they harassed the Keepers and occasionally even kicked a Quaffle, as the rules prevented Seekers from actually touching the ball with their hands. In fact the only ball the Seeker was allowed to catch was the Snitch.

However, the Snitch was only worth fifty points, which meant if one team was really overmatched, even the Snitch would not help. In this case, though, the two teams were very evenly matched, and in the end it came down to two seekers—both sixth years—flying wildly after the Snitch. Harry watched their attack angles attentively, surprised at how often both Seekers would take a direct line to the Snitch despite the near certainty of it changing direction.

Finally, though, Hufflepuff pulled off the upset by ten points, ending a thrilling two hour match that left Harry breathless.

The next day during practice, Oliver set up a monocular in the play room, projecting the game on a wall much like a Muggle football game, only without anyone yelling "SCORE!" every time a goal was kicked.

The team watched not just the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw game, but also their first disastrous outing against Slytherin. The differences in play were astounding. When they finished both, Oliver said, "You've now seen every team play. Who's best?"

"Slytherin," Lee said, though it sounded like it hurt him to say it.

"No, but good guess,"

"Hufflepuff?" Harry ventured.

"Another good guess," Oliver said. "But I'm not asking who would win, but who's best?"

"Ravenclaw had the best formations, speed and reaction," said the sole reserve player in the back of the room. They turned and saw Angelina standing behind their chairs, arms crossed over her chest, scowling. "Their keeper had a better stopping percentage, they had more goals on point, and their beaters scored more hits. The Hufflepuffs were scrambling to stay even, and only won because of the Snitch and Palsey's foul."

"Right," Wood said, without acknowledging Johnson's disgrace as a reserve. "We'll find out in a month how the 'Claws and Snakes will do in a heads up game. Despite being the better team, the Snakes fight dirtier than any team I've seen, especially this year. The 'Claws have an older team—all sixth and seven years, and they've all been playing together for three to four years. They have timing, experience and familiarity. They have everything we lack."

He looked intently at the other plays. "This is the first year most of you have played. We're the youngest team in the school. I can't help the experience, but we can fix our timing and familiarity. I've been making you fly drills, but maybe instead I should work on timing more. All of you are decent enough fliers. What else should we work on?"

Harry hesitantly raised his hands. "Their Seekers did a lot more than I did."

"Exactly!" Wood said, grinning. "We're going to work on your interaction with the team, and see where that takes us. So, we used practice time viewing these games, so I'm calling a practice tomorrow. Come ready to fly."

They started to amble out. Harry was next to last out when he heard Wood say, "Angelina, wait."

He knew it was bad manners, but feeling some guilt over what happened, Harry lingered just outside the door and listened.

"What, Wood?" she asked, angrily.

"Did you actually learn anything, Johnson?" the team captain said.

There was a long silence and in his mind Harry imagined the two staring angrily at each other. Finally, Angelina said, "I know I shouldn't have. I…I heard Elfaba talking about what it felt like when he touched her tit. You boys just talked about Harry copping a feel, but Elfaba said he touched her magic. She said it felt incredible, better than bonding, and I just…"

Harry felt stunned at the sound of a sniff. "Wood, this place is _shite!_" she said angrily. "I'm a black Muggleborn! The boys won't even look at me, not when there are all these pretty little white English roses around me. Hell, I can't even get Lee Jordan to look at me. What am I supposed to do, just lie down and fade into spinsterhood?"

"Angie, you're thirteen years old," Wood said, suddenly sounding old. "You'll find someone, I promise."

"I wanted you, though," she said so softly Harry could barely hear.

"Trust me, you don't," Wood said. "Lilith White is an utter cow, and she'd make your life miserable."

"Then why'd you bond with her?"

"Because I was too stupid to wait until I was actually ready," he said pointedly. "You're a beautiful, talented young witch, Angie. I know you'll do well. Just lay off Potter—you know the professors have their eyes on him."

"Could I…could I come back on the team?"

"Not for our next game—you've been officially moved back and unless Lee gets hurt you're on reserve. But if you show me that you learned your lesson, frankly I'd love to have you back. You're our best chaser."

Harry heard another sniff. "Thanks, Ollie."

With a shuffle of fabric, Harry supposed that the two were hugging, and chose that moment to make his escape back to the castle.

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

Snow was on the ground the morning of their next game on the first Saturday of December. Fortunately, the Quidditch Pitch was charmed to provide some relief, but not even the warming charms could completely warm up the freezing air.

After almost a month of intense practices, and two weeks of timing drills, Harry felt a lot less frightened and a lot more excited about their game with Hufflepuff. When Wood finally sat him down and explained that they played each team twice, and that the winner of each round would play in a school cup match (unless the same team won both rounds) he realized that these first games were not as important as he had initially feared.

Like the 'Claws and Snakes, the Hufflepuff team was comprised of Fifth, Sixth and Seventh year students, with only a single Fourth year. As a result, they were all older, larger and more experienced than the Gryffindors.

Despite a better start to the game, that difference in experience and skill began to show at the outset. However, Harry was pleased to see that Oliver Wood was actually a very good Keeper when not punched in the face, stopping the first five shots before a sixth got through.

Harry, desperate to make a difference, decided to employ one of the tricks he saw in the previous game and swooped in to try and disrupt the opposing Chaser formation. Of course, they were prepared and slipped past him easily enough, but what they were not prepared for was the sheer, devilish skill of the Weasley twins, who used Harry's attempt to position themselves for a perfect blow right into the chest of the Quaffle-bearing lead Chaser.

As the Chaser and Quaffle began to fall, Harry realized Lee was out of position to take advantage of it, as were Alicia and Katie. He pulled his broom up and over in an inverted dive, barrel-rolled, and then kicked the Quaffle as hard as he could just before the other Hufflepuff chasers recovered it.

The ball went nowhere near his Chasers, but he kicked it high enough to give Lee time to get into position. He caught it and managed to pass it off to Alicia who scored. Harry cheered as loudly as the rest, thrilled that he was able to actually make a difference in the game.

The game was a lot closer than any of the Gryffindors were expecting—or the Hufflepuffs, if the frustration on their faces was any indication. They were a good, solid team, but somehow the Lions kept managing to sneak in goals, while Ollie skilfully blocked most of their attempts. The fact that he had more blocks than his team had in actual attempts was a testament to the Hufflepuff's defence, but the fact that the Gryffindors only trailed by six or seven goals was a testament to how improved they were from their first game.

The one exception to the general improvement of their play was Lee. Though he tried hard, he just did not have the same confidence and drive that Angelina did. He shied away from Bludgers instead of trying to outfly them, and twice actually flubbed catches while trying to avoid being hit.

It was well into the second, chilled hour of play that Harry saw a golden gleam at the very edge of the dome of heated air that seemed to shunt the snow aside. He looked around the field and saw that the other Seeker was in a better position but didn't see it yet.

Then he caught Georgina's eyes. The lanky girl was eying Harry with a predatory smile that had nothing to do with bonds or boy/girl relations. Somehow, she _knew_ he'd seen it. Using only his eyes, he looked at the other Seeker, then up.

Georgina nodded before grabbing her twin brother. The two then zoomed down the field, stealing a Bludger that had been hit toward Alicia and blasting it at the Seeker.

Harry shot off like a rocket the moment the other Seeker flew down to avoid the Bludger. He heard the roar of the cold wind against his numbed ears and adjusted his charmed goggles. He felt his hair tugging in the wind and the broom thrumming underneath him, while in the distance the Snitch dipped, somehow sensing its capture was imminent.

The other Seeker pulled up from his dive to see Harry making his move and tried to recover, but Harry did not give him a chance. Rather than head straight on, Harry took an angle, knowing that it would force the Snitch away from him. By controlling his direction of approach, he hoped to influence the Snitch's direction of escape. Of course, that's not how he thought it. Rather, he thought, _Go this way to make it go that way_!

And that's exactly what the Snitch did. Harry's approach caused the Snitch to dart away from him, causing the other Seeker to overshoot them both with a curse on his lips. Harry ignored the Hufflepuff seeker and the roar of the crowd as he _willed_ the broom to go faster. Suddenly he shot forward in a burst of sudden acceleration that surprised even the Snitch, and snapped the little ball right out of the air.

The whole pitch reverberated with a gong-like sound. Only then did sound come back, heralded by an amplified voice announcing, "Potter has the Snitch. A valiant effort from a young Gryffindor team, for a final score of 130 Hufflepuff, 110 Gryffindor!"

Harry drifted down to the ground, emotionally and physically exhausted, and watched as the Hufflepuffs celebrated. However, when he looked back at his own teammates he saw Oliver Wood grinning maniacally. "Hear that, people?" he asked, barely heard over the noise in the pitch. "They only won by twenty. Fred, what were the odds?"

"They were expected to beat us by a hundred," Fred said. He began to grin too.

"By a hundred," Oliver said. "They were older than us, stronger than us, more experienced than us, and yet they could only beat us by two goals. Just two. We may have lost the battle, my friends, but the war's just getting started."

Harry wasn't allowed to join the celebration in the changing room, of course, since he was a First Year. However, Professor McGonagall was in an ebullient mood as she escorted him through the snow toward the castle along with lines of other students.

"Your parents would have been so proud of you, Mr Potter," she said fondly. "James was an extraordinary flier, and I saw much of his native skill in your flying today."

"I know we lost, but it feels like we won," Harry said. "Strange, isn't it?"

"No, Mr Potter, not truly. You lost the game, yes, but what I saw out there were seven separate young people merging into a single, unified team."

Harry smiled happily at the thought, and then said, "Professor, do you think you could let Angelina come back? I think she really is sorry, and Lee's nice, but she's better."

"We'll see," she said, and he could tell from her tone that she also thought it was a good idea.

Harry smiled, nodded, and then said, "I think she and Fred will make a great couple."

McGonagall blinked and looked down at him. "Oh, and where did this come from?"

Harry stumbled a little in the snow. By the time he straightened and continued, the Professor said, "Mr Potter?"

"Yes?"

"Why do you think Fred and Angelina would make a good couple?"

Harry looked up and blinked at her. "I…who said that?"

McGonagall stopped. "You did, Mr Potter. You just, a moment ago, told me they would make a good couple."

"Huh," he said. "I don't remember that. That's strange. Come to think of it, though, they probably would. Their magic is a similar colour. But she won't be able to trick him—he's already sorta bonded with Georgina. You can see it in their magic when they're close. It's like they share the same fire. Huh, wonder why I said that?"

He looked puzzled as they continued toward the castle, while McGonagall looked oddly pensive, especially given her happy mood just moments before.

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**Author's Note**: Very special thanks to Teufel1987, JR and Miles for beta reading.


	12. Happy Christmas

A/N: Chap 11 Review Responses are available in my forums. Thank you for reading.

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**Chapter Twelve: Happy Christmas**

Things in the dorm were different when Seamus returned. That's not to say that their schedules changed or how they organized their beds. The change was more subtle than that, but profound nonetheless. Seamus was no longer their leader.

Nothing was said outright, of course, that's not how eleven and twelve year old boys work (Seamus's birthday was in October). However, the day he returned to the room, he apologized to all of them, even though he also admitted he didn't remember any of what actually happened. He did, however, remember Harry blasting him into the ceiling, and then hurting him very badly.

"I'm the one who's sorry, Seamus," Harry said. "I thought that book was one of a kind—my mum wrote it, and it was the first time I'd ever seen a picture of her."

"Really?" Neville asked. "I mean, …well, Gran has a copy of it in our library. It's a pretty famous book."

"Well, yeah, I know that now," Harry said with a dry laugh.

"Anyway, I just wanted to say sorry, you know," Seamus continued.

"Thanks," Harry said.

With the ritual of atonement thus completed, the boys settled back into their routine, only of course with a difference. Seamus no longer decided all the games they played in the evening like he did before. Instead, he deferred to Harry or the others, who were happy to try any of the various games the House had in the common room. He was surprised at just how many Muggle games the house had. His favourite game was RISK, while Ron favoured Stratego or Wizarding Chess. Neville, at first confused by it, came to love Wizard's MONOPOLY.

The last Quidditch game before the holidays was Slytherin against Ravenclaw, and the upper years already had a healthy betting pool. Of course, the Gryffindor Quidditch team watched the game together in the middle of their housemates and cheered the 'Claws while booing the Snakes.

While the Slytherin team played just as dirty as before, the Ravenclaws not only handled it better, but seemed to expect it. The Slytherin team tried its hardest to foul the 'Claws, but somehow the Ravens were able to stay just out of reach of the worst attempts. Unfortunately, though, even the attempts had an impact on the game. The foul attempts interfered with the Ravenclaw plays and lowered their accuracy.

The Ravenclaw team's Keeper also had more of a problem escaping the foul attempts, given her limited field of play, and at the close of the first play, Flint managed to foul her, which left her unprepared for the Bludger that got her in the back of her head and sent her falling towards the floor of the pitch, where Hooch was able to catch her with a levitation charm just before she hit.

Ravenclaw caught the Snitch after two hours of play, but it was too little and too late for the House of the Wise to win.

"Well, that's it for Gryffindor and Ravenclaw this round," Wood said. "Even if we beat Ravenclaw, we're out of the running."

"Which means," the twins said, "that we have nothing to lose!"

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

Harry was alone for the holidays in his dorm room. After the better part of four months sleeping in a room with three other boys, it felt odd to be so completely, utterly alone. However, because most of the other students went home for the hols, the restrictions were lifted, meaning he could stay in the Common Room as long as he wanted, and even walk about the castle as long as another male student was willing to go with him.

He found that willing accomplice in the form of Lee Jordan, the twins' friend and Angelina's replacement. Lee was a black boy of thirteen, soon to be fourteen, and a good foot taller than Harry. He already knew that Wood was planning on putting him back on the reserve team, and Lee seemed happy with the development. "I want Gryffindor to win, and Angelina's better," he told the team with an easy shrug.

Through Harry's acquaintance with Lee (he hesitated to say friendship, since the two boys had little in common) Harry had his first true opportunity to actually explore the castle.

"Yeah, they don't really ease up on you until Third Year," Lee confided with the world-weary tone of a soon-to-be teenager while the two walked through the many floors and corridors that crisscrossed the ancient structure. "Third year's when you get to get your first electives, and when they don't herd you around by yourself so much. I mean, you still want to stick with your mates or the other boys, of course. Those older girls are like dragons, trust me. They see a young wizard by himself, they'll swoop down without hesitation. Shag you silly in a heartbeat if you're not careful."

Harry stared, wide-eyed, as the two walked out of the castle into the knee-high snow that coated the grounds. "Really? But…but…really?"

Lee laughed. "Well, not all of them. Not most, I guess. But some of them, yeah. Fred and George got caught by themselves in October by a group of Slytherin sixth-years, and one actually offered to go down on Fred in a classroom nearby."

Harry had no idea what that meant, but from Lee's tone it sounded naughty. "What happened?"

"George said her brother would do it for ten galleons! The girls looked like Georgina'd just slapped them. Funniest thing, really. But then one of them said alright and handed over the money."

Harry stopped. "You're joking. Wouldn't that make him…er…bond?"

Lee shrugged. "Thing about twins, Harry, is that they're already bonded. Once a bond exists, you can't have involuntary bonds happen again. Georgie is like Fred's shield. And let me tell you, that Slytherin was not happy when she realized she'd just given it up to a Third-Year Weasley with no chance of bonding with him."

"What'd she do?"

"Nothing, not really. She was the one in the wrong, but I heard her screaming all the way back to the Dungeons."

Harry scratched at his ear. "So does that mean…well, that Fred had sex?"

Lee peered oddly at Harry. "Don't you know anything?"

"I guess not," Harry said, suddenly red-faced.

That night, Harry had his first unofficial sex education by way of Lee Jordan's collection of girly magazines. Harry stared down at the pictures with a bright flush to his cheeks and eyes as wide as his eyeglass frames, while Lee lectured him on what the couples in the photos were doing.

"This is what it means when a girl goes down on a boy," Lee said, pointing his quill as if discussing an interesting charm. He turned the page. "This is what happens when a boy goes down on a girl."

"What if they need to pee, though?" Harry asked. "Wouldn't you be afraid of getting peed on?"

"Well, hopefully she'd hold it," Lee said with a shrug.

"What about the other way?"

"Can't pee when you're hard."

Harry blinked, having never heard that. "You can't?"

"No, you nit, you can't."

"Why?"

"What do I look like, a healer? I don't know! You just can't."

"Where'd you get these?" Harry finally asked.

"My dad was a Muggle," Lee said, though his face dropped a bit. "Received no small bit of shite for it too. A witch _demeaning_ herself to marry a Muggle and all."

"Like Kevin Entwhistle," Harry said. "He was in the Orientation class. His Mum ran away, and the Professors said she probably did it to protect his Da."

Lee nodded. "Yeah, Mum ran away from us during the worst of the war too, but came back after…well, you, I guess. Caused a bit of a row, but they made up. Still, she can't really show her face in Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade 'cause she married a Muggle. Had a veil done permanent and her magic bound and everything. Only reason more people don't give me shite is because of the twins. The Weasleys are a big deal, Harry. Wizards with lots of kids are important. Mr Weasley's a department head at the Ministry now, 'cause he fathered so many kids, and four of them boys. His wife got booted up to the Dame of their coven, and he's an Elder on the Wizengamot now too. That's the only family in the past century to have so many boys. If Georgina ever made a play for me, I'd accept just because it would erase the sin of my birth."

"Do you love her?" Harry asked.

Lee Jordan shrugged. "She's a friend, better than a lot of blokes get. Look at Wood, poor bugger. And I know she won't trick me into anything. That bond she shares with Fred works both ways, you know? Speaking of, this is what happens when a man buggers a woman."

Harry stared down at the picture, and then grimaced in disgust. "What happens if she needs to…you know…go poopy?"

Lee sighed.

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

On Christmas morning, Harry woke up to a handful of colourful packages at the foot of his bed. He stared at them for the longest time until comprehension dawned. "I have presents," he said in a voice filled with awe. "I have presents!" he said again, shouting this time.

They were not large or expensive—nothing like Dudley's Christmases back home, but Harry didn't care. They were gifts from his friends, and they were his. He'd bought them gifts too from the little commissary the castle had, but for some reason he never dared allow himself to think he might get a gift in return.

Ron got him Chocolate frogs that came with collector cards of famous witches and wizards. Seamus got him some candy quills, but it was Neville's gift that touched Harry the most. It was not a toy or a candy, but an aged _Daily Prophet_ newspaper. At first, Harry didn't understand why until he saw the article on the front page: "Interview with a Prodigy: Lily Potter neé Evans, bestselling author while still in her teens!"

The pictures did not move like in some of the other books, at least not much. Evidently the charms used in newspapers did not last quite as long, so in many ways it looked just like a Muggle paper, with Lily smiling shyly from the picture. She was sitting on a rock by what looked like the lake at Hogwarts.

The article was fluffy, talking about what it was like to be a famous writer while still so young, and about what school was like. She said her favourite professors were a Horace Slughorn, who Harry did not know, and Professor Flitwick.

As he kept reading, though, he was surprised when the tone of the article became more critical of her marriage and bonding with James Hadrian Potter.

"_Several suitable witches have written to the_ Daily Prophet_ to state that you were not allowing Mr Potter to take a second spouse. There has even been talk among the covens to force the issue in the Sabbat. What do you say to your detractors?"_

"_I would say that I have the full support of my Dame, Delia Griffin," Lily said. "They understand that our circumstances are unusual with my being an Aether. I can assure you that I am not the only Aether to want to wait to find their man a second wife, given that I would have to be a part of the bonding as well. Still, James and I have decided to have a child first before we begin entertaining offers for a second wife. After that, it depends on the offers. If the right girl came along, I would consider it now."_

"_And what about rumours last year of you fomenting insurrection among your classmates at Hogwarts?"_

"_Insurrection? I don't know where you heard that. It is true that I was critical of many things when I was younger. As a Muggleborn I had a certain mind-set regarding how government should work. However, even before I bonded with James, Dame Delia took me aside and we had a long, informative discussion. I promise I would not have her support if I was still a vocal critic of the Covens."_

Harry was eleven years old. Words like _insurrection_ did not mean much to him, really. No, what his brain latched onto was his mother's seemingly calm discussion of finding his father a second wife. Then a naughty part of his brain thought back to the dirty pictures Lee showed him. He knew that's how people made babies—he was not _that_ naïve. But that meant this beautiful, exquisite creature who was his mother had done _those_ things with his father.

It made his cheeks flame with a sense of shame. After all, right there in the paper she as much as admitted she was having sex with her husband! Oh, the shame. Still, Harry decided the rest of the article made up for the naughty bits, and found himself immensely grateful to Neville for the sheer thoughtfulness of the gift.

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

Edwin and Calliope Granger stumbled when they saw their daughter emerge from the magical barrier at King's Cross on the first day of the winter holiday. Since they did not have their magical children with them, they could not enter to the platform itself and had to wait outside.

Around them, the other Muggle parents shuffled in surprise as well, with Ms Thomas actually gasping when she saw her daughter Deanna.

The children all looked completely normal. The odd backlit effect to their eyes, and the slightly pale complexion to their skins, was replaced by perfectly normal looking eyes and skin. It was a parent of an older student who laughed. "Yeah, bloody-well shocked me out of my wits, first time I saw my girl with her Veil on."

Calliope looked at the man, then at her husband, and finally to her approaching daughter as realization sank in. It was an illusion—a mask to wear when she was in the normal world. Still, the mask looked just like Hermione in every other way, especially in the way her face lit up in a smile when she saw her parents for the first time and ran to greet them, her trunk bouncing behind her.

Goodbyes and season's greetings were made all around before the Grangers left the crowded station to the nearest underground, which would take them to where they parked since there was almost no parking at all at King's Cross.

It wasn't until they were in the safety of the car and driving toward their home that they dared ask Hermione about the term. "Oh mum, it's so incredible!" Hermione gushed. "I mean, the Veil is rather bothersome, but everything else is wonderful. The food is incredible—they have lavish feasts every night, and our Witch's Health professor told us that we should eat all we want because our magic requires more calories than Muggles. And I'll still be able to take my GCSEs! Isn't that wonderful? Professor Burbage is the Muggle Studies professor, and Muggle Studies takes up half of each day because we're taking things like chemistry, history, science and literature. And she gave us all a potion that helps us read faster and understand things better, so we're flying through the coursework. We'll take our GCSEs on our fourth year, and I learned there are magic-friendly Sixth Forms I could go to get my A-levels over the summers!"

As always, the words came out in a torrent so fast it became a blur in Edwin's ears, while Calliope frowned a tad in concentration. When their daughter finished to take a breath, Calliope asked, "And did you get to see your friend, Harry? We noticed he wasn't in many of your letters after your first week."

Hermione pouted and crossed her arms "No, I haven't seen him hardly at all. The only class that was co-ed was Flying, and he passed out of it on the first day! And now he's the on the Quidditch Team, the youngest seeker in a century. Oh, we got trounced so badly our first game. I thought Harry was going to die when that Bludger hit him right in the face. It hit him like a cannon ball and knocked him off his broom. But Professor Snape caught him with a spell before he hit the ground. I asked Professor McGonagall how he could survive since the Bludger really is a big iron ball that they hit each other with, and she said that our magic protects us from blunt trauma like that, though Harry was in the hospital for a while. But did you know? I heard that Harry and Seamus got in a fight! Parvati said that Elfaba had said that Ron told Percy that Seamus ripped up a really important book that Harry's mum wrote, and that Harry's accidental magic was so strong it blew Seamus into the ceiling and kept him there, and then Harry punched him so hard he had to go to the hospital for ten days! Can you believe it? And no punishment at all—no detentions or points lost. Lavender said it was because Harry was the Boy-Who-Lived and got special treatment, but my friend, Justine from Hufflepuff, thinks it was because it was all accidental magic, and that something else even worse was happening. And you should have seen Harry after, he looked so sad, like a lost puppy. I just wanted to go and hug him until he felt better, but of course they won't let us girls anywhere near them, especially not Harry, not after Angelina Johnson tried to poach him, the cow."

"Hermione, language!" Calliope said. "And what's this about Ang…what's her name?"

"Angelina Johnson. She's a third year on the Quidditch Team, and Parvati said before the first game she tried to bond with Harry. I mean, she grabbed his arm and pushed it against her boobs and looked into his eyes, but I guess he was nervous or something because he threw up all over her. She deserved it. Professor McGonagall kicked her off the team for one game because of it. But…"

She faltered again and looked down at her lap while her parents digested what it was she was saying. "Hermione, what exactly does it mean to try and bond with someone?" Calliope finally asked.

Hermione scratched her ear, a sure sign of nervousness. "Mum, things are little different than what you and dad are used to, you know? Think about it, thirteen boys, and twenty-seven girls. There's a… Well, they call it 'poaching'. Lavender Brown's sister is a sixth year and told us about it. The older girls like to try and…bond with younger boys before they know what they're doing. The captain of our Quidditch team was poached his fifth year, and now he has to marry a girl who's already left school. The only reason he got to continue school is because their mothers agreed. There are so few boys, and all these older, pretty girls come in and steal the boys in our year, so that when we're older and looking for a boy, we have to do the same thing and steal from the younger years. It's really quite mercenary. They talk about how wonderful it is to marry for love, but I don't think it happens very often. And for Muggleborns like me it's really hard to find a good man. Angelina is Muggleborn, and Lavender said she was willing to do almost anything to find a wizard. I hope I'm not like that. I'll probably end up a spinster witch, but as long as I have plenty of books and magic that will be okay. There are a lot of spinsters and widows in the magic world."

"Why can't you just marry a normal man, like that boy Kevin's Mum did?" Edwin said, fighting down a sense of resentment at what he was hearing, or that he was actively encouraging his twelve-year-old daughter to consider marriage in any capacity.

Hermione shook her head. "Dad, you remember that movie we watched on the telly last year? _Guess Who's Coming to Dinner?_ It would be like that, only worse. Witches who marry Muggles have to give up their magic. They can't show their faces in public without being treated very poorly, and their children are often treated badly as well. It's not right, not at all, but I'm not sure I wouldn't rather be single and magical. And Merlin, this Veil feels awful, like worms crawling under my skin. I would hate to have to wear it all the time!"

"Maybe you get used to it," Calliope said hopefully.

"Elfaba, the Head Girl, she warned us that it doesn't really get any better." Hermione bit her lip. "I was silly thinking it would all be perfect, wasn't I? We're only learning a little magic this year, mostly because our own magic is still too unstable for things like Defence Against the Dark Arts or Potions. And I don't like flying a broom at all. I get terribly dizzy, although one time I fell twenty feet and didn't even get a bruise. But magic just feels so wonderful! I just don't think I could give it up."

Finally the chatter died down and they reached their house. Hermione lugged Crookshanks inside, leaving her trunk for her father. The Kneazle had grown a great deal and now took up most of Hermione's lap when she sat in their living room in front of the blank television.

She seemed subdued when they ate that evening, though she did eat a healthy portion. She ate a nice serving of pudding for afters, before settling down in front of the television, which was still off. Suddenly she blinked hard, as if trying to clear her eyes, and changed.

It was not as shocking a change as what McGonagall did the first time, but it was still so startling to see their little girl go from looking the way they had always, deep in their hearts, wanted her to look to seeing her revert to her true form. She smiled up at them, though there was a hint of sadness in the expression, as if she could see into their minds and knew that as much as they loved her, a part of them desperately wanted her not to be a witch.

Edwin covered his hesitation by walking casually to the couch and sitting next to his only child. "So, do you have any homework to do over the hols?" Edwin asked in as normal a tone as he could manage.

He stifled a yelp when she snuggled into him like she did as a child, resulting in a painful shock much like touching a live wire. He ground his teeth though, and in seconds the shock turned into a deeply soothing pleasant warmth as she laid her head and hand on his chest and the slight rise of his ever-expanding stomach.

"I missed this," she whispered. Her lips tickled his stomach as she spoke.

Calliope came and saw on the other side of their daughter. "Missed what, darling?"

"Touch means so much more to us," Hermione said, still speaking absently, as if her mind were a million miles away. "I've never seen magicals shake hands, do you know? Casual touch doesn't happen very much because of magic, and yet I just crave touch so much. I miss this."

Calliope braved the brief discomfort and began gently rubbing Hermione's back, while staring intently at her husband with a worried, loving smile. In an astoundingly short time, they realized their twelve-year-old daughter was sound asleep on Edwin's chest.

It always astonished him how light she was when he lifted her in his arms. She was a perfectly normal-sized girl for her age, and always had been, and on a scale she seemed a normal weight. But even Calliope could still carry her with ease, as if somehow her magic made her lighter for those who loved her.

Regardless, the two parents carried their little girl up the stairs to her room, and later repaired to the ground floor for a much-needed glass of wine. They were still on their first bottle when their telephone rang.

Placing it on speaker, Edwin said, "Granger residence."

"Edwin?" a tremulous voice said, "It's Leah Thomas. It's not a bad time, is it?"

"Not for a friend," Calliope said. "Is Deanna alright?"

"Did Hermione tell you about what that Johnson girl did?"

"Oh yes," Calliope said, taking over the conversation Mum to Mum. Edwin took the opportunity to open a second bottle.

"Dee asked me about…." The other woman broke down for a moment before she said, "She asked me how to perform fellatio so she could get a man when the time came. How am I supposed to answer that? She's only twelve! What is going on in that school?"

"We wish to God we knew," Calliope said.

"I'm not sure I want her going back," Leah Thomas said.

"Leah," Edwin said, "I'm not sure we have a choice. Remember what the Ministry woman said? If you try to stop her, they may take her away from you, completely."

The woman on the other side sobbed. "Cally, Edwin, I'm not sure I can take this."

The two dentists shared a long look before they said, "Leah, why don't you and Dee come over tomorrow. We have the numbers for the Fletchleys and the Boots. Maybe we should all get together, just to compare notes. We might even be able to recruit parents from some of the older Muggleborn students to help us figure out what to do."

On the other side of the phone, they could hear Leah Thomas surreptitiously wiping her nose. "Really?" she asked, hopefully.

"I think it would be a good idea," Edwin said. "Hermione's letters said those girls went into separate houses, so they may have heard other things. Maybe if we approach this thing together, it will prepare all of us better."

"That would be great!" Leah gushed. "Oh, thank you. Lunch, maybe?"

"I think that will work. Even if we can't get the others, it would be good to compare notes."

"What about that Entwhistle boy?" Leah asked.

Calliope shook her head. "I did not get a good feeling from him or his father, to be honest."

Over the speaker, Leah said, "I didn't either. I'm glad we agree, then. See you tomorrow! Thank you both for being there!"

The line clicked dead. "If our daughter asks you how to suck a man off…"

"She'd look it up herself and we'd never know," Calliope finished.

"Yeah." Edwin slouched in defeat. "Happy Christmas, love."

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**Author's Note**: Very special thanks as always to Teufel1987, JR and Miles for beta reading.


	13. Lost in the Stars

A/N: Chap 12 review responses are available in my forums here on ff dot net. One more relatively happy chapter.

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**Chapter Thirteen: Lost in the Stars**

With the first school day of the second term came a new class. Where Wizarding Studies was a double class on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, their new schedules changed that to a one hour class three times weekly, replacing the first hour with Astronomy.

Professor Aurora Sinistra was a strikingly beautiful witch with almost shimmering black skin and delicate, European features that hinted at a mixed heritage. According to the older students, she was Professor Snape's second and younger wife, chosen several years after he and Professor Hooch bonded.

Like the other twelve boys in his class, Harry found himself staring at her in awe. "Snape's a lucky man," Seamus muttered.

"Wands down," Sinistra said as she walked in. "If any of you decide to pursue this class beyond O.W.L.s, then you will get used to staying up late. However, for now…"

She flicked her wand, and suddenly the thirteen boys found themselves floating in a sea of stars. "Whoa," Harry whispered.

"Magic is a wonderful thing," Sinistra lectured, "but it is finicky. Sometimes the smallest, seemingly most innocent things can affect you or your magic. Potions can be affected by tidal forces or even the alignment of certain planets. We track constellations because the very position of the Earth to the stars can impact some rituals. Granted, the impact is not always significant, but it is measurable. Astronomy is not just staring and memorizing star patterns. It is, in its heart, the purest form of applied Arithmancy you will ever find. At least for those who choose to pursue it beyond your O.W.L.s. For now, it is learning the rudimentary aspects of magical spectrometry, and the principals of alignment, pull and how those things affect your personal magic. The alignment of the stars can be the difference between a boy or a girl; or having a child at all."

Harry didn't know whether to be excited over a fascinating subject, or terrified at how hard she made it sound.

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

Despite the new term, the Quidditch Season was still in the first round, and the next game was Gryffindor against the twice-defeated Ravenclaws. In fact, both teams were at the bottom of the bracket with no hope of improving their standings for that round.

It was the most fun Harry ever had in a game. With no reason not to, he tried every trick he could think of after viewing Omniocular recordings of previous games, both at Hogwarts as well as professional ones.

Angelina, in her first game after her punishment, proved why she was Wood's first choice by leading the chasers with surprising skill for such a young, inexperienced player. Wood was on fire, blocking almost every Quaffle that came. It was the best game they ever played as a team; they lost by ten points after Harry snatched the Snitch right out from under the Ravenclaw Seeker's nose.

Somehow, though, it didn't matter. After congratulating the 'Claws for their first victory of the round, the team gathered around Harry and Wood to celebrate their improved play. Afterwards, McGonagall escorted Harry back to the castle while the rest of the team went to the changing room.

"If the team keeps improving," McGonagall said, "I would not be surprised if we take the second round of play. If not then, I think at the very least we have a chance to do very well next year."

"This year would be fun too, though," Harry said with a happy smile. They lost, but compared to where they started from, he felt like he had won.

In the last Saturday in January, Slytherin beat the stuffing out of Hufflepuff, quite literally. By the time the Slytherin Seeker caught the Snitch, the Hufflepuff team had five reserve players in the game, and of those two were injured. The first round of games went to the brutal Slytherin team.

Gryffindor would play them again in two weeks.

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

Harry's stomach was tight again when the dreaded morning of their rematch with Slytherin finally arrived. The past month had been spent in intense practice sessions to prepare themselves for the most violent game of their lives.

He dressed in his dorm room with his roommates talking to him in an encouraging fashion, and actually walked with him to the pitch together until he joined the team. In the team room, Wood gave a long, rousing speech, and then promised not to get cold-cocked in the first seconds of the game.

They flew out to the cheers of the whole school, while Slytherin flew out to the cheers of Slytherin and boos of everyone else. Flint had a big, dangerous grin on his face when he drew even with Wood.

Wood gripped his broom firmly and glared right back.

Harry kept his eyes on Professor Hooch who carried the kit out onto the pitch. She reached in and released the Snitch first, and Harry watched it intently. He could see the spark of golden magic in it, highlighted oddly enough by the painful, bitter cold of a February in Scotland. He kept his eyes peeled on it as it rose high into the sky before darting to the right. He continued to watch it as it hovered high above the stands, visible more as a shimmer than a ball.

"_Potter, what are you doing?!"_ Johnson whispered.

Harry just shook his head, refusing to look away from the shimmer.

Hooch threw the Quaffle into the air, signifying the start of play, and Harry shot off toward the shimmer without hesitation, moulding himself to his broom to reduce not only his drag, but also the bite of the cold.

He heard a loud, magnified voice saying, "What is Potter doing? Has he seen the Snitch already?"

He felt as much as heard the Slytherin Seeker behind him, but he didn't look back. He knew for a fact that they were not ready to beat Slytherin yet, not on their Chaser skills alone. But if he was fast enough…and there it was! The shimmer became a small golden ball with wings. He arched his trajectory and came in from a low angle, once more herding the Snitch. The Slytherin Seeker was almost on his straw, but he didn't dare look.

Suddenly the Snitch dropped straight down. Harry pulled his broom up hard, flipped backward and then shot straight down, leaving the startled Slytherin far behind. The Snitch flew as if possessed by evil pixies, moving faster than Harry remembered it moving in the other games. Yet he stayed right on it, manoeuvring between other players, Bludgers and even the stands themselves. The Slytherin Seeker gave up trying to catch him, and instead started trying to foul him instead.

Harry ignored him, like he ignored everything else—the whole of his concentration fixated on that that Snitch. He reached out for it, inches away, when the Bludger struck his broom. In a snap decision, Harry pushed himself forward off his now flailing broom with a grunt, snatched at the Snitch, and then began to fall uncontrolled toward the pitch.

He saw a stream of magic swish by, but unfortunately for him it missed. A second stream and then a third whizzed by, but none struck and he landed on the ground with a violent expulsion of air, and a loud snap of bone as his leg broke.

Professor Hooch was first on the scene. Grimacing at the pain in his leg, he nonetheless reached up with the Snitch. "Did we win?"

Hooch stared down at him in shock, then up at the scoreboard, which reported: Slytherin 10, Gryffindor 50.

Back with Harry, the Professor shook her head. "Aye, you crazy little lion, you sure did. Congratulations."

Harry had a surprising number of visitors in the infirmary that night as Madam Pomfrey healed his leg. Because it was a rather nasty break, she decided to vanish one of the bones and regrow it. "Now, remember, this is going to affect your magic for the next few days," she warned. "So don't push yourself."

"Yes, ma'am."

The discomfort of the Skele-Gro was more than offset by the sheer joy on Oliver Wood's face when he came by with flowers and Chocolate Frogs. His roommates came by accompanied by Percy to congratulate him, and he received dozens of cards from his classmates whom he never got to see.

He couldn't help but smile when he saw Hermione's name on one of the cards, and Jessica Rivers and Deanna Thomas's names on two others. He remembered Parvati from the sorting, while he did not remember Lilith Moon at all. He was also surprised to find a card from Justine Finch-Fletchley in Hufflepuff.

However, the notes all congratulated him, wished him well, and some had drawn hearts or smiles. He glowed under the praise, knowing at least until their next game that he was a hero. That glow lasted until his first special session with Professor Severus Snape.

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

He was in his dorm finishing up his chemistry homework when the Sixth Year Prefect, Jones, came. "Come on, Potter," he said. "You got an appointment with Snape."

Seamus, Ron and Neville all shared alarmed looks with Harry, until he remembered why he was supposed to go. "Oh, right, forgot. Coming!"

Jones, who seemed cold to Harry, passed the First Year off to the last person he wanted to see: Marcus Flint.

"Here's the runt, Flint," the Sixth Year said.

Flint grinned darkly. "Got him. Come on, runt." He grabbed Harry's arm roughly and pulled him further into the Slytherin part of the castle that even Gryffindor prefects didn't go if they could help it. The glow from his Quidditch triumph quickly began to recede in fear, especially when he saw a group of older Slytherin girls walking toward them through the darkly lit hall.

"Oi, Flint, what do you have there?" one of the girls, a coldly beautiful young woman with curled blond hair and glowing brown eyes said.

"Just a firsty, Melissa. Nothing to get your panties in a wad over—wouldn't do nuthin for you anyhow."

"That's Potter!" another of the girls exclaimed—she was as blonde as the first, though rounder in face and figure.

"Snape said no touching," Flint said darkly. "If you're that eager, come see me in an hour or two."

"You're taken," the wide-bodied girl said.

"And disgusting," the first blonde added.

"I'm beautiful on the inside," Flint said with a sneer. "Now get moving."

"Er, you're taken?" Harry asked. Now that he looked, he saw that Flint did indeed have a bond on his magic.

"None of your business, runt," Flint said coldly. Finally, they came to one of the many doors that dotted the corridor, this one no different than the others. Flint didn't knock, and after a moment Harry could see why. A nimbus of light blue surrounded the door and shimmered like water when they came within a few feet of it.

The door opened of its own accord; Flint pushed Harry forward. "Go on, runt."

"Er, right."

Hesitantly, Harry stepped into the room, which was a small chamber filled most by a desk and bookshelves. Being a potions master, he expected to find cauldrons and other creepy things in Snape's office, but it was just an office, with a desk and bookshelves. Behind the professor, though, he saw another door once again surrounded by a nimbus of blue light, this one overlaid with red.

"Er, Professor, those lights around your door … are those wards?"

Snape looked up from whatever he was grading, and looked at Harry flatly until he lowered his head. Leaning back in his chair, the Slytherin head said, "Describe them."

He even sounded flat. "Er, it's like a blue balloon, same as on the door behind me, but that one also has a red balloon over it."

"Yes, those are wards," Snape said, speaking in a curt, abrupt manner. "Sit, Potter."

"Yes, sir," Harry sat quickly and clasped his hands together in an effort not to fidget.

"I am going to be candid with you, Mr Potter. You look a great deal like a man I deeply, deeply despised," Snape said. "James Potter was a childish, hateful prat. He was a bully, as were his friends, and worse of all he was selfish. As much as I wish it were otherwise, so was Lily. James should have had a minimum of two wives, possibly even three, but Lily could not stand the thought of sharing, and James only cared about her. For those reasons, I have no reason to look upon you with anything but contempt."

Harry tried to swallow in a dry throat. "But, sir, I…"

"You are not your parents," Snape said. "As I have been repeatedly reminded. This is why we are having this discussion. Occlumency, and its counterpart, Legilimency, are the most difficult and intimate magics to learn, and I am frankly sceptical you will get anything from these lessons despite the Headmaster's faith. However, because of that, we must be honest with each other. I have a great desire to despise you, and no reason to do otherwise other than my wives, who remind me constantly that you are not your father. And though you remind me a great deal of Lily, you are not her either. You were raised by Lily's sister Petunia, correct?"

Harry blinked in surprise that Snape knew that. "Yes, sir."

"She's a despicable person as well, but then again, Lily almost killed her and maimed their mother with accidental magic. I'm sure that plays no small part in how you were treated as a child." Snape stood and stepped around his desk, pausing long enough to snag a chair before he sat a foot away. Harry turned in his chair to face him.

"Mr Potter, I tell you this because during the course of our training you will undoubtedly receive bits of memory or emotions from me, and it is only fair that you know why. The one thing you have going for you is that Professor Sinistra speaks well of you. Now, what do you know about Occlumency?"

"I read in Mum's book that it's a way to shield your mind from attack," Harry said, relieved to be discussing something safe. "She said she also used it to help her learn things like an ordering potion, and it sometimes helped her when she got emotional."

Snape blinked. "Ah, yes, Lily's book."

"Sir?"

"Nothing, Potter. Occlumency for most people is simply mental shielding, nothing more. However, Lily was able to employ it in unique ways. I cannot, for instance, use Occlumency to order my emotions, nor can I use it to learn faster. For those I depend on sheer will or potions. For Lily—she was an emotional girl, and could use all the help she could get."

"Sir, please don't say…" Harry started, before looking down. "Uncle Vernon said they were no good drunks. I was raised to believe they were worthless and didn't love me."

Snape blinked and leaned back, showing a hint of surprise for the first time. "As much as I disliked them," he finally said, "I know for a fact that they loved you. They died for you. They fought and nearly destroyed one of the most powerful wizards to ever live, all for you. I shall endeavour not to let my personal dislike colour my contact with you too much."

"Thank you, sir."

"Now, let us get started. Do you recall what your Mum wrote about for people just getting started?"

"Er, yeah, she said…."

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

The Ravenclaws trounced the Hufflepuffs in their second round game. The 'Puffs had to replace one of their starters with a reservist because the poor girl simply refused to play after the injuries she received during the Slytherin game, and the change-up showed in how the 'Puffs played. In fact, if anything, the Ravenclaw team played even better leading into the second round than the first.

This meant that two weeks later the Gryffindors were actually favoured to win for the first time that year against Hufflepuff.

Harry still had his familiar butterflies and had to force himself to eat anything at all, but when they flew out onto the pitch for their game against Hufflepuff, he felt a surge of something completely new: confidence.

This wasn't to say the Hufflepuffs were going to make things easy, and they didn't. However, that surge of confidence Harry felt wasn't unique to him. He could see it in the faces of his teammates. They played like a completely different team from their first few games. With Angelina in charge of the chasers, they were communicating more efficiently than ever, and passing the Quaffle as if they had been doing it the whole of their lives.

Wood was a machine, barking orders to the rest of the team while blocking four out of every five shots on goal, and those all being excellently made shots from Hufflepuff's skilled chasers.

And Harry? Harry cut loose, flying with an excited scream half the time as he dove through Hufflepuff formations, kicking their passes wide and in general making a nuisance of himself to the Hufflepuffs while doing everything he could to help his own team win. Still, the score remained neck and neck despite the Gryffindor's improved play, until Harry saw the Snitch.

The Hufflepuff Seeker saw it at the same time, and this time it was a straight out race. The other player was larger, stronger and more experienced. Harry was small, fast, and insane in the way only young children could be, being completely unmindful of his own safety.

It made them surprisingly even.

They came on flying inches apart toward the Snitch. The 'Puff managed to keep Harry out of his preferred angle of attack through sheer size , but Harry had a feeling in his gut that the Snitch was going to drop on them again. He couldn't afford to risk that, though, and so stayed by the larger girl's side.

A larger girl, Harry noted with a touch of anger, who had much longer arms. The Puff was reaching out five inches further than Harry and was within a finger's breadth of the Snitch when, just as Harry thought, it dropped straight down.

The Puff cursed and pulled hard left in a partial barrel roll to drop.

Harry flipped backward and dropped like a missile, out-distancing the Puff with what he was now thinking of as his signature move. The Snitch continued straight down, and Harry continued straight after it, pulling up only feet from the ground with the Snitch. He had to run with his broom for a few steps to keep from ploughing into the grass before he took off again, inches from the floor of the pitch. The Puff was quickly gaining through a sharp angle of attack so Harry willed every ounce of magic he could into his broom to go faster.

He surged forward, and with a swipe of his hand, grabbed the Snitch out of the air before the Puff could recover from her slow dive. As the gong sounded, Harry looked up to see the score: Gryffindor 120, Hufflepuff 90. Once again, the Snitch made the difference.

"Look, he can still walk!" Georgina Weasley said as she arrived first. She socked his shoulder hard, hugged him, and then kissed him soundly on the lips before virtually throwing him to Fred who—much to Harry's discomfort—did the same exact thing. Amazingly, though, he felt no butterflies or reaching magic from either of them.

Nor did he when Angelina caught him in a while hug, screaming, "You did it again, Harry!" followed by Katie and Alicia both. Katie did give him a shy peck on the cheek, but he felt no strange magic from the gesture, and in her magic saw only happiness at the victory, and pride in his performance.

The team lifted him to their shoulders and carried him off the field, chanting "Potter! Potter!" It was more magical than charms. And just like last time, the glow of victory lasted until his next Occlumency lessons.

Snape did not chant his name nor praise him at all. While the man was not cruel, he was cold at the worst of times and simply unemotional at best. Harry's seeming lack of progress did not help at all with the professor's opinion of him either.

"I think Snape hates me," Harry confided to Professor Burbage during their next tea.

Charity laughed. "One: that's Professor Snape, Harry; and two: do not take it personally. He hates everyone."

"But he's married to two really pretty witches, why should he be mad all the time?"

Charity nodded over her tea. "While I like to think Rolanda has nothing on me, even I have to admit that Aurora is a truly beautiful woman. She and Severus, at least, are well matched, and it was to Rolanda's credit that she saw that and acted to bring Aurora into the marriage. No, you're mistaking a lack of social skills with hatred. Professor Snape would much rather spend all his time in a Potions Laboratory than teaching—he's a researcher, pure and simple."

"Then why is he here?" Harry asked.

"Sometimes we can't always control where our paths lead us. Now, I heard a rumour that you did exceedingly well in your last Charms exam. Care to enlighten me?"

Harry told her all about the last test, feeling a little bit of the glow returning. It always did when he took afternoon tea with Professor Burbage.

* * *

sp

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**Author's Note**: Very special thanks as always to Teufel1987, JR and Miles for beta reading.


	14. The Last Temptation of Harry Potter

**A/N: CHap 13 review responses are on my forums as always. And now, a warning:**

This chapter is not particularly violent, and there are no deaths in this chapter. And yet, it is one of the most evil things I've posted on fanfiction. This and the next chapter are evil chapters for a very good reason. Several reviewers have made the mistake of thinking that because an evil thing fights against an evil system, that makes the evil thing somehow less evil. That is simply not true. But the truest evil is the one that can smile brightest, with the most loving promises, while consuming your soul.

Warning for a sex scene as well. I believe the scene adheres to the requirements of an M rating, but be warned in any event.

* * *

**Chapter Fourteen: The Last Temptation of Harry Potter**

On the morning of the second Saturday in May, two weeks after the Gryffindors managed to hold off a powerful Ravenclaw team by a single goal, the whole school buzzed with excitement about the championship game between the dominant Slytherins, who won every game in the first round and all but one in the second, and Gryffindor, who lost all their games in their first round, but somehow won their second round games.

Charity Burbage was excited not for Gryffindor, but for Harry Potter. She had watched over the course of the year as the battered, abused child blossomed into the very boy she hoped he would be—a leader among his peers and a star at the school. Her weekly tea with the boy had given him his first maternal figure, and Charity would be lying to herself if she did not admit the attachment went both ways.

She was, in the way any mother would feel, in love with the child. He was everything she had been led to believe he could be.

She was finishing up some grading the morning of the game when she heard a knock at the door. Given that she was unable to cast wards or attune them to her magic, she was particularly insistent that anyone entering her classroom knock. However, given their recent weekend teas, she could tell just from the tone of the knock who it was.

"Quirinus!" she said, looking up with a warm smile. "I wasn't expecting you until before the game!"

Quirinus Quirrell cast his charming, debonair smile at her like a spell as he walked into her room. "Well, I found myself in the neighbourhood." Then, with a chuckle, he amended, "Actually I'm lying. I've been planning to talk to you for quite some time, but found myself hesitating repeatedly despite our teas together."

"Oh?" she said with one arched brow.

He nodded, and suddenly his smile faltered. "I know there's been a lot of whispering about what happened during my sabbatical last year."

"Well, some were curious, but I didn't want to pry. I figured you would tell me if you wanted."

He nodded and looked at her with a particularly sad smile. "I do want to. I have wanted to for some months now, since I saw how wonderful you were to young Mr Potter, but it has been difficult for me."

He sat down at the chair by her desk that Harry most often occupied. "I…I lost my family, Charity. We were studying a nest of Vampires in the southern forests of Bulgaria when we were attacked. You know that Bulgaria does not regulate or license their vampires, and we learned first-hand what that meant. Aqualia died first. They snapped her neck fast—I like to think she did not suffer. But Delilah…"

Charity had known Quirinus for four years—never in all that time had she seen him demonstrate anything other than calm confidence. Now, though, his voice broke and he closed his eyes. "They took our children next," he finally said. "Timothy screamed for us. He was calling for 'Daddy' but they had my wand. I couldn't do anything. And Charlize and Dramione screamed and…" He stopped and closed his eyes, a single tear beading at the corner of his eyes.

Charity had her hands over her mouth, her own eyes watering. She didn't know his family personally, but had met them. "Oh Quirinus," she whispered. "Oh Merlin, I'm so sorry! How did you…?"

"That's the worst of it," Quirinus said bitterly. "They let me go. The monsters just let me go. They killed my entire family and made me watch, then let me go."

"What did you do?"

He looked her in the face and said, "I killed them. I destroyed the entire nest and another two more besides. When I came back, I…I considered taking Draught of Living Death, especially after my Dame demanded I remarry immediately. Couldn't have an un-bonded wizard carrying about now, could we? But Albus convinced me to try to find some reason to go on with the Defence post, and convinced my Dame I needed some time to recover. She gave me a year. And what a year—it has been the worst year of my life, trying to live after losing so much."

She could not help but reach out and take the hand he had flat on her desk. "I'm so very sorry, Quirinus."

He looked back at her intently. "But, you see, mid-way through the year I discovered a reason to keep going. And now…now I find myself in a unique position, Charity, and I hope you will consider my next words carefully. I must bond again, but having done so and had children already in my mind gives me a freedom I never had before. And I must admit, I am lonely—a crushing loneliness I never thought I would experience."

"Magical beings were never meant to be alone," Charity said her heart thudding in her chest as her mind began to race.

"No, they weren't. You're alone too, aren't you, Charity?"

"Because I'm only a squib," she said in a small voice.

He leaned forward until his dark, burning eyes were only inches from hers. "Magic burns in your heart, just like mine," he said. "It is a quirk of genetics that you can't access it, but it's there. Any children you bear would be magical, and you are beautiful, Charity. So very beautiful. I no longer need to abide by the expectations of others, only my own desire. And I desire you, Charity Burbage."

He pulled his hand out form hers, and placed it on top of her now trembling hand. "Quirinus, I…you'll be a subject of ridicule, we both will," she said.

"I destroyed three nests of Vampires single-handed," he said firmly. "I previously bonded with two pureblooded witches and produced three children. No one will ever question my right to bond with whom I will. And I will have no other, just you."

She could feel his magic seeping into her hand, cool and strong. He was a Slytherin, while of course she never attended Hogwarts at all being a Squib. "Why me?" she finally asked.

He leaned closer, the burning in his eyes now piercing her with intent and magic. "Because of your kindness and your strength. Because I've watched how you became a mother figure for the Potter boy and truly made him better for it. If you could do so much as a teacher, what wonders could you do with children of your own? I truly want to find out, if you say yes."

The air crackled with magic, and the feel of it washed over Charity like firewhiskey. Never before in her thirty six years had any wizard extended his magic into her like Quirrell was doing now, and the feeling of it was more than intoxicating. Despite everything, she had hoped and fantasized that he liked her through their afternoon teas together. She felt her body responding, as well as the caged, damaged core of her own magic.

"Quirinus, you must know that…I've never been with a man. I…"

He reached out a hand and placed it over her left breast, exactly where Harry did. His touch was not soothing like Harry's, though. It was at once cold and hot, exhilarating and powerful. A surge of hormones and magic rushed through her system, and with shock she felt moisture gathering between her legs while her face flushed.

"I know what to do, if you but say yes." His voice was strong, his face angular with hard planes. He was in truth a beautiful man and a powerful wizard. For him to even consider her…for her to even have this opportunity…

"Yes," she breathed.

His wand was a blur as he cast privacy wards around the room. She could barely breathe before he vanished her clothes, leaving her naked for the first time before another. He looked on her body hungrily, and it was an act of will for her not to try and cover herself.

"You are beautiful," he breathed. He vanished his own clothes, and she stared at his lean, muscular body with another surge of hormones. He was already powerfully erect.

"Quirinus," she whispered.

He moved closer, pressing his body against her. "Yes, my love?"

"Are you sure?"

He slid home within her body; the shock of it stole her breath. There was only a mild discomfort, not pain. Her hymen was gone long since just from the rigors of life and maturity. She looked up into his burning eyes as his magic washed throbbing through her with every incredible, astonishing thrust. In his eyes, she felt his magic reaching for her, and for the first time she felt her own magic reaching out in response, in this one case not restrained by her disability.

He moved faster now as their magic merged in a spill of energy and emotion, and for that one moment the world was perfect. The climax came like a storm cloud, thundering inside her head as he finished at the same time, grunting at the release of his seed and magic within her body.

The bond was formed—they were for all intents and purposes married.

He smiled at her then and pulled out. "That was lovely, my dear," he said. For some reason his voice sounded different—higher pitched and reedy.

"Quirinus?"

"Oh, he's not here right now," he said, still in that high-pitched whine. "After all, one cannot torture or kill a bonded mate. But he is a faithful servant. I promised him another woman for the sacrifice of his family, and you served the role well."

The magic of the bonding turned to an icy ball of fear. "I don't understand," she said.

He smiled again, only there was no kindness or humour in the expression as his burning brown eyes turned suddenly black. "Nor would I expect you to. After all, you're only a squib." A flash of red light, and Charity Burbage knew nothing else.

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

Flint and Wood stared at each other with mirrored expressions of hatred. The larger team hovered threateningly around their captain, while the smaller, younger Gryffindors gripped their brooms nervously.

Professor Hooch stepped onto the pitch with the kit of Quidditch Balls, and without a word released the Snitch. Harry watched it rise intently, keeping his eyes fixed on it until the shimmer disappeared. However, he continued to look intently at a spot just over Flint's eyes, and many of the Slytherins turned on their brooms to look where Harry was looking.

The Bludger went next, and then finally the Quaffle.

Harry shot off while the Quaffle was still in the air. "Stop him!" Flint screamed.

Before Harry had gone even three feet he flipped his broom, using the straw to hit the Quaffle into Angelina's hands, and then dove straight down. The Slytherins, operating on Flint's orders, followed him like an army, and with the opposing team completely out of position, Gryffindor scored the first goal.

What followed was the hardest fought game of the young Gryffindors' lives. That wasn't to say their first game against Slytherin wasn't bad, but they were like lambs to the slaughter. This time, they came into the game prepared to fight. By the first time out, every single one of them sported a bruise or cut, and Katie whimpered with a likely broken foot where the Bludger had clipped her. And yet, for all their wounds, they only trailed behind by twenty points, and the Slytherins were beat up as well.

And it was largely because of Harry. He had taken on the role of guardian angel, watching the backs of his chasers or beaters whenever a Slytherin player tried to blind-side them. Twice he dove inches from the Slytherin players, disrupting their attacks, and twice actually clipped them with his hard, iron tipped boots, transfigured for this game especially by Wood.

"I couldn't be more proud," Wood said, eyes glistening with the pride he spoke of. "We are Lions!"

"We are Lions!" the others cheered.

After another hour of play, Harry realized that his team simply could not last much longer. Angelina was flying with a bone bruise on her thigh where a Bludger hit, and Wood had a black eye where Flint had fouled him on a play. They were only thirty points down, but much longer and the gap would get larger than the Snitch could make up for.

He began scanning the air intently, hoping for something to give a hint of where the Snitch would be. He finally saw it hovering a foot underneath the centre Slytherin goal, almost within sight of the Snake's Keeper, and just a few dozen yards from the opposing Seeker.

He fell in with the Chasers, acting as their guardian as he had been doing the entire game, while trying to keep the hovering Snitch in view. The opposing keeper moved out from the goals a foot or two to better position himself to block the Gryffindors' attack, while Fred and George tried valiantly to fight off the Slytherin beaters.

Katie passed to Angelina moments before Flint personally collided with her, his shoulder tucked down. She didn't even make a sound, just grunted as she flew backward off her broom. Harry spun away from the attack with a yell and caught Flint in the face with his boot, sending the Slytherin captain tumbling off his broom within feet of Katie. The other Slytherins converged angrily on Harry while Angelina took the shot and scored. The keeper went to retrieve the Quaffle, and in that moment Harry struck.

He dove behind the angry Chasers, looped between the Beaters causing one to actually knock the other out with the Bludger, and dove at an angle for the Snitch. Because it was right up against the goal post, it did not have full direction and instead tried dropping down.

Harry barrel-rolled, extended his right hand down, and snatched it out of the air with a triumphant shout. The gong sounded and he looked up just to make sure. It confirmed Gryffindor 130 Slytherin 100.

~~Elemental~~

~~Elemental~~

Professor McGonagall was so happy she personally ordered two whole _barrels_ of butterbeer. The mildly alcoholic drink was Harry's first introduction to wizarding alcohol, and after two glasses he felt a happy, slightly numbing buzz.

Around him, the older students laughed and sang songs while drinking butterbeer, or for the seventh years, firewhiskey. McGonagall attended the party personally, hence the special permission for Harry, the hero of the hour, to attend.

It was fun watching the older students dance around each other, and more fun to pick out who had bonded already and who hadn't. Elfaba, the Head Girl, was staring deeply into the eyes of another seventh year, and he could see their magic tentatively reaching out, like two wisps of white light. It was beautiful, really, and he hoped for her sake that the boy was a good one.

He saw Georgina holding Angelina down while Fred tickled her relentlessly, while Lee hovered nearby laughing with a butterbeer in his hand. On the far couch, a pair of sixth years were snogging passionately, their own magic also reaching out for each other until a well-aimed spell from McGonagall separated them. Harry tried not to laugh at their forlorn expressions.

He did see one couple who had already very clearly bonded—sixth years. She was sitting on his lap, arms draped around his shoulders, while talking happily with another pair of sixth year girls. Their magic blended into each other, the hotter white of his fire causing the softer orange glow of hers to heat up.

"That's nice," Harry whispered aloud.

"What's that?" McGonagall asked, having to almost shout over the din.

Harry pointed at the couple. "I hope they're happy."

McGonagall's eyes narrowed. "Bonded?"

Harry nodded.

"Hmm, I'll have to inform their parents. I had high hopes Mr Derricks would last longer than that."

Suddenly McGonagall stood, as if hearing something none of the rest could hear, before she returned and tapped Harry on the shoulder. "Mr Potter, Professor Quirrell is here to escort you to Professor Burbage. She asked to see you. I know you've had a few butterbeers, but I expect you to be on your best behaviour."

"Yes, Profe_ssss_or," he said, slurring slightly. He climbed to his feet before sitting down abruptly.

"Do you need help, Potter?" she asked with one raised brow.

"Little dizzy," he admitted.

McGonagall herself stood before taking his hand and helping him to his feet. "Come along, Mr Potter." With her hand on his shoulder she escorted him to the portrait of the Fat Lady that guarded the tower. Just on the other side was the most terrifying thing Harry had ever seen.

The man had a ghost inside him! Veins of cold blue magic seemed to overlay the man's own weakened blue-brown magic, like a picture drawn on glass and laid over another picture. The man's eyes were brown, but with a shadow of black hiding the strange blue magic. "There's a ghost inside you!" he blurted.

The man quirked his lips. "You let him have some butterbeer after all, did you Minerva?"

"A little butterbeer never hurt anyone, Professor Quirrell," she said primly. "And given that Mr Potter is the primary responsible party in Gryffindor winning the Quidditch Cup this year, it seemed rather inappropriate not to let him partake in at least some of the festivities."

"Professor, there's a ghost in that man!" Harry stammered again, pointing.

"Actually, that's my veil," the man said with a smile. "I chose a veil with a different appearance for security reasons. Most former Aurors do."

"That's true enough," said McGonagall. "Alastor Moody's veil actually makes the man look almost human. Go on now, Mr Potter. I'm sure Professor Burbage will see you back safely."

Terrified, but unable to convince McGonagall that there was a ghost inside Professor Quirrell, Harry felt himself pushed forward by one professor and taken in hand by the other. Quirrell's touch felt cold and slimy, and he could both see and field the blue tendrils of magic touching his shoulder and making him shiver.

"Don't worry, boy," Quirrell said with a wry smile, "you'll understand soon enough. In fact, this might be the best day of your life. I have an offer for you. Come with me."

Harry didn't understand why they went to the second floor girls' bathroom, nor why the sink in the middle was gone, replaced instead by what looked like a spiral staircase. "Where are we going, sir?" he asked timidly.

"To one of the great secrets of the castle," he said. "Did you know that Salazar Slytherin managed to breed a basilisk? Magnificent creature. Dead now, more's the pity, but its skeleton still lies in its chamber. Come, see."

With Quirrell's hand insistently guiding him, Harry walked down the spiral staircase into a gloomy, poorly lit cave littered with ancient bones and slick muck. Quirrell guided him through several caves until they came to a large metal door. "Harry," Quirrell said, "behind this door lies your future. _Open._"

The way he said the word sounded different to Harry, but understandable enough. The ancient door swung open, and on the other…Harry momentarily lost the ability to breathe.

It was a house, a real country cottage with a slate roof and large windows. A bubbling brook ran by the house, while it held a front garden of luxurious green grass and shrubberies. Charity Burbage stood on the covered front porch of the cottage, smiling happily at him. Instead of black professor's robes, she wore a flattering blue dress with a modest neckline.

"What is this, sir?" Harry breathed.

"A glimpse of your future, if you want it," Quirrell said. "Come along."

They stepped through the gate into this strange world. Overhead, gentle clouds floated in a perfect blue sky, though he saw no hint of the sun. Birds chirped, but he could not see any. He saw a line of trees behind the house, but they looked blurred and indistinct. What was real, though, was Charity Burbage.

Quirrell released Harry and walked to Burbage's side. "Harry, Charity and I have bonded. You can see the bond, can't you?"

And indeed, now that they were together, he could. It was a thin white bond of magic connecting Quirrell's core and Charity's. "But…when…"

"Harry," Charity said brightly, "you must understand what an honour and opportunity it was for Quirinus to even propose. After all, I'm a squib, while he is a powerful wizard. I was happy to accept the bond—we are to be married."

"And after we're married, Harry," Quirrell said, "Charity and I would like to offer our home to you."

"I know the Dursleys did not give you the home you deserve," she said, "but Quirinus and I would. I love you so much, Harry, that I would like to be your new mother, and I would like you to be my son.'

Harry folded down to the thick grass as his knees gave out. "You want to be my mum?" he squeaked.

"Oh yes, Harry!" she said, rushing out onto the grass herself to embrace him. "I love you so much." She crushed his head to her bosom, and for the first time Harry felt something different about her magic from the first time he touched her. She leaned back and he saw a thin ring of grey around her pupils.

It looked just like when Seamus tore up his mum's book.

"Before we can make you our son, though, you have to do us a favour," she whispered conspiratorially. "Quirinus is sick. He probably told you about his veil, didn't he? It's not, of course. He was hurt during his sabbatical, and has that pesky poltergeist tied to him."

"A ghost," Harry whispered.

"Yes. A pest, really, perfectly harmless."

"But it's inside him, I can see it," Harry said. "And it did something to you too."

"I'm fine, Harry, love," she assured him. "The favour, Harry. Before we can adopt you, we need you to cure Quirinus. It's something only you can do. A power only you, and your mum before you, even have. You showed us, when you hurt Seamus Finnigan."

Harry leaned back from her, and then crab walked a foot away. "What do you mean?"

"My soul has been infected, Harry," Quirinus said, speaking gently as he came and knelt down beside Charity. "This poltergeist is infecting my very soul. The healers at St. Mungo's said only a visual/tactile aether had any hope of curing it. It's a rare combination, my boy. Most aethers are one or the other, but like your mother, you have both. I need you to remember what you did to Seamus and do the same to me."

"But I hurt Seamus," Harry whispered.

"You damaged his magical core, and by extension his soul," Quirinus said. "But just like Muggle doctors have to cut out cancer, I need you to use that same power to cut out this poltergeist, so that I can get better, and be the husband and father I so wish to be."

"Think about it, Harry," Charity said. "We could be together, a real family. I could take you shopping with me on market days, and we could have ice cream and go to the theatre and amusement parks. I've always wanted a son, Harry. Please do say yes."

Harry wiped his eyes with shaking hands. "And this place?"

"This is what my home in Cornwall looks like," Quirrell said. "And it would be your home as well. There are plenty of other children to play with, I assure you. Please, son, be a brave little Gryffindor and help save me. Save me, so that I can save you."

"Please save your father, Harry," Charity begged.

"My…"

"I will be your father," Quirrell promised earnestly. It was so odd to see the man kneeling down and begging him, while that cold blue echo of magic shivered inside him. "And you will be my son. And we'll give you a baby sister to love and take care of. You always wanted to be a big brother, didn't you Harry?"

Shell-shocked by everything happening, Harry nodded numbly. "I would be a good big brother," he admitted in a thin voice made shaky by emotion. "I don't understand what's happening, though."

Charity took his hand and pulled it to her chest in a familiar gesture. Harry was stunned by the absence of the brassier, and felt soft, malleable flesh under his fingers, and just under that the warmth of her magic.

"I will be your mum, Harry," she whispered. "I will be yours to love. Quirinus will never begrudge us, never. Don't you want me to be yours, Harry? To love you absolutely?"

Harry could only nod.

"Then will you help save my bond-mate, Harry? Please?"

Harry shivered violently and wiped his eyes and nose on the back of his sleeve. "Okay."

* * *

sp

sp

**Author's Note**: Very special thanks as always to Teufel1987, JR and Miles for beta reading.


	15. Shattered Illusions

A/N: As bad as the last chapter was, in a way this one is just devastating. I did not enjoy writing it at all, and view it as something that had to happen to continue the story. It is one of the most powerfully formative events in Harry's life, though you won't see how until much later. But most readers will see just how Voldemort's hatred has been shaped by the nature of this AU.

* * *

**Chapter Fifteen: Shattered Illusions**

Charity held his hand and smiled down at him with a slightly empty look in her grey-rimmed eyes. He could not feel her magic from her hand—she was a Squib, after all—but the human warmth of the contact gave him some small hope. He didn't understand everything, but somehow he knew something was deeply, terribly wrong. He just could not think of any way to escape it.

Quirrell led them into the cottage. Through the door they entered a homey, lived in room with a sofa and several heavy wood-framed chairs lined with upholstery that had seen better days. The kitchen was exactly like what Professor Hooch showed them in Wizarding life—devoid of any modern appliances and yet still fully functional thanks to a variety of charmed items. The icebox was split just like a modern equivalent, but was in actually simply two boxes carved from granite, which held the runes better than wood. The doors were wooden, though, making it look just like the cabinets around the room.

Through the kitchen they stepped into the back garden, where trees suddenly came into brilliant focus—yews and chestnuts, mostly. In the centre of the garden was a circle of grey stone ringed with in tiny, intricate runes. Quirrell moved to the centre of the circle and lay down.

"Come, Harry," Quirrell said calmly. "Come cure me, and we can be a family at last."

Desperate, Harry looked up at Charity, who merely nodded to Quirrell. "Go on, Harry," she said. "You can trust him, just like you trust me. You can see our bond, and you know from class that bond mates cannot harm each other."

All true, and yet Harry felt a deep sense of dread. "Okay," he said weakly before he let go of her hand and walked onto the circle.

He could see a deep, cold magic in the stone, blue and wet like Slytherin magic, and oddly enough like the poltergeist that somehow infected Professor Quirrell. "Don't be afraid, Harry," Quirrell assured him. "You're doing a brave thing—the right thing. Professor Dumbledore is so proud of you for agreeing to help—you'll see soon."

Nodding, Harry knelt down beside the prone professor. "What am I supposed to do?"

"Strike my chest like you struck Seamus Finnigan," Quirrell said.

Hesitantly, Harry gave the Professor's chest a tap with his hand; nothing happened of course.

"No, Harry, not just with your first. Do you remember what you were feeling when you struck him?"

"I was mad," Harry confessed.

"Just mad?"

"Really, really mad. I…I wanted to hurt him, like he hurt me."

"I need you to feel that way to me, Harry," Quirrell said. "I need you to want to hurt me."

"But I don't, sir."

He sat up, grinning. "Really, Harry? Would you like to see something really scary?"

"No," Harry whispered, too terrified already to speak aloud.

"Too late."

The cottage disappeared in a flash of black-rimmed red fire, and suddenly Harry was looking at his Mum, like she was in the picture of the book. "Oh Harry," she said to him in a dead-sounding voice, "I hoped so much for you. You're breaking my heart, Harry. Why couldn't you be better?"

Harry scrambled back to the edge of the circle, but a solid-seeming barrier kept him from leaving it entirely. "Mum?"

"I gave my life for you, Harry, why can't you do better? Is destroying people all you can do?"

Suddenly Petunia Dursley appeared beside her sister with a gun in her hand. Harry screamed at his Mum to watch out, but Lily Potter simply stood there while Petunia put the gun to her head and pulled the trigger, blowing the opposite side of the woman's head out.

Harry's stomach rebelled as he lost his last meal over the stone. "You're going to be next, you stupid freak," Petunia snarled. "If you can't find another family, we'll kill you when you come back!"

"Noooo," Harry groaned.

"Harry," a familiar voice said.

He turned and whimpered when he saw Charity Burbage on her knees, blood running form her mouth. "Harry, you have to do what he says. He'll kill me if you don't. I'm sorry, Harry, please forgive me. You can save me, Harry. You have to kill the evil inside Quirinus. If you can kill the evil part, we can be a family. Please…"

She screamed—a shockingly loud sound—and fell to her side writhing in agony. Harry spun about and saw Quirrell sitting up with his wand pointed at her. "You said you couldn't hurt her!" Harry said.

"Quirrell can't," the man with Quirrell's voice said. "I am not Quirrell. I'm the poltergeist controlling him. And I can do anything to her I want. Do you want to see me strip her clothes and fuck her in the ass? I'll leave her ripped and bleeding. Do you want me to make her stab herself in the eye until she dies? I can do anything to her I want—she is under my control. And I will, Harry, unless you stop me." He leaned forward, and the horrid blue magic of the ghost gleamed out at him from behind black eyes. "And there is only one way to stop me."

Terror fought with anger that this man—this monster—was hurting _his_ Charity Burbage. He looked down at his hand and saw his magic playing about his palm in a way other people's magic did not. Like the healer, he knew his magic projected out of his body in an unusual way, and that he could control that magic in ways others couldn't. He just wasn't sure he knew how.

Charity screamed again as Quirinus flicked his wrist. "I enjoy hurting her, Harry," the ghost in him continued. "I enjoy the sounds of her screams. I think I shall conjure rusty saws and cut off her feet, and then her hands. What does a squib need with hands or feet, after all? She's just an animal. And to think you believed she loved you, you stupid freak. No one could ever love anyone like you, not ever…."

"Harry," Burbage said weakly. "Don't believe him, please. I _do_ love you. I do…"

Quirrell flicked his wand yet again, causing her to writhe in agony. Harry could see a terrible red light squeezing her core, and shards of red lighting running through her whole body. This was Quirrell's doing. Rage spiked in his chest, overpowering all the terror. With a guttural roar, Harry reached up and slammed his fist against Quirrell's chest, releasing with it his intent to destroy.

Suddenly the ghost separated completely from the man's body and the black bled away, leaving the weak brown light of Quirrell's own body. "You foolish boy," he whispered. "You've done exactly what he wanted. You've killed me! And now he'll have my body!"

Harry jumped to his feet, but then slipped on his own vomit and fell. However, he realized quickly when he did that he landed outside of the rune circle. Somehow, he was free. Desperately he ran to Professor Burbage and grabbed her hand, while around the back garden of the cottage flickered and began to fade. By the time he had the sobbing woman to her feet, they were no longer in a country cottage, but a large, torch-lit cavern lined in statues of snakes.

Dominating one side of the chamber was a massive skeleton of a fearsome creature—a snake easily sixty feet long with a head large enough to take two men in a single gulp. "The bond's been broken," Charity whispered as she clung to Harry. "Quirinus is dead. Run, Harry, run!"

Harry tried to go faster, but Professor Burbage's legs were not working well and he had to fight with all his strength to keep her upright. He risked a glance behind him and saw the blue poltergeist hovering over Quirrell's mouth, slowly sinking in. Even as Harry watched the brown magic of Quirinus Quirrell fade out of his body, it was replaced by the cold, powerful blue of the ghost.

They were approaching the wide circular door of the entrance when the metal slammed shut. Harry and Charity turned around to see Quirrell rise up to his feet from his prone position like a vampire from a bad movie. He made a show of looking at his hands and robes, then touching his face.

"Yes," he said, "this will do nicely."

He stepped off the stone circle and approached Harry and Charity with a cold, wry smile on his face. "Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived. It has been some time since I've seen you with my own eyes. Let's see…just over ten years, in fact. I'm sure you've heard that you have your mother's eyes, but that's truly irrelevant. What is important is that you have your mother's power."

"I don't understand…"

"Finnigan was a test, of course," Quirrell said. "To see if I could goad you into a demonstration. You Gryffindors are always so predictable. But then Dumbledore played right into my hands by letting his great-great granddaughter form a relationship with you. It is quite tragic, really, that Charity here could never truly be your guardian."

"I would have taken better care of him than his relatives," Charity said in a reedy, strained voice.

"Oh, to be sure. But then again, the Dursleys truly are the lowest rung, aren't they, so it would not be much competition, if your memories are any indication." With a sudden grimace of rage, the new Quirrell slashed his wand violently.

Harry cried out as Charity was ripped from his arms and thrown bodily against the metal door. With a second violent slash, her dress vanished away leaving her nude. Only then did Harry see the bruises covering her legs and torso.

"Look at her, Harry," Quirrell said. "This is a woman. Even if she were a true witch, I would be as strong as any ten of her. I daresay even you would be stronger when you grow up. And yet, wasn't it Burbage herself who tricked you at the first of the year, forcing you to come on your hands and knees begging for help? What was it she said, Harry? Do you remember?"

Harry looked away from his favourite teacher and shook his head stubbornly.

Suddenly cold red light struck him like lightning, and for a split second Harry felt the worst pain he could have ever imagined, as if every part of his body caught on fire all at once. When it ended, he was on his side, rolled up in a foetal ball.

"You'll learn not to resist, boy," Quirrell spat. "Tell me, what was it she said?"

Fighting back mucus, Harry gasped, "That wizards can't succeed without the help of a witch."

"Without the help of a witch," Quirrell sneered. "I was taught the same thing as a boy, Harry. That no wizard could succeed without a horde of women to control him. The Muggle world wasn't like that—in my youth Muggle women knew their place and men ran the world. But magic was different. It was those bloody Saxons that did it, you see. When you get older, perhaps you'll study the true history of wands. Over time, the shape of the wands changed, but the end result didn't. The tides were turned, and we…became…their…_slaves!"_

He spat the last word at Burbage, cold black eyes blazing with hatred. "They poach us when we are young, forcing magic-draining bonds on us to keep us controlled. If we're too powerful, they _force_ their bonds on us, raping us. The bonds were originally supposed to make wizards stronger, but without focusing the bond through a staff, they have the opposite effect. Wizards were reduced from titans to slaves for _women._" He took a step toward Burbage and jabbed his and Harry saw the red lightning strike, and shivered as Burbage screamed under the agony of the torture curse. "Stop it!" he screamed. "Leave her alone!"

Quirrell stopped and turned to Harry, smiling darkly. "You don't even know who I am, do you, boy?"

"I don't care," Harry said, once again thrumming with an anger that temporarily suppressed his terror. "Just leave her alone."

"Brave little Gryffindor," Quirrell said, stepping closer as he spoke. "Just like your father. He fought me harder than any wizard had since Gideon Prewitt, standing over the body of his dead twin sister. For a brief time, I feared James Potter might actually win. He was a powerful wizard, your father. But in the end he just didn't have the killing instinct, and died because of it."

Harry backed up a step as Quirrell moved ever closer.

"But your mother, she was truly remarkable. I was going to let her live, you know. All she had to do was grant me one boon—do me one favour—and I would have let her live. I told her as much—walk free and alive, if she just used that remarkable, unique power to give me my final accomplishment. But she refused me. Instead, she twisted her magic against me. She broke her own soul while breaking mine, killing herself in the process." His smile faded as a memory of pain appeared. "The stories say I killed her, but I did not, Harry. She killed herself to hurt me. She left you alone to face me boy."

Harry backed up another step. "Voldemort?"

"Ah, yes, finally you see," the spirit in Quirrell's body said. "I turned my wand on you, but my core and my very soul were so damaged that my killing curse rebounded on me. You are not the boy who lived, Harry. You're simply a target I missed."

"Harry, run!" Burbage screamed.

Voldemort spun and jabbed his wand at where she was stuck spread-eagled against the metal door, before spinning a moment later and capturing the fleeing Harry in an invisible, vice-like grip. "I'm not quite done with you, lad. Come here."

Harry grunted at the force that pulled him off his feet only to drop him almost right in front of Burbage. Strong hands grabbed his shoulders while magic wrapped around him and held him taut.

"You have a remarkable power, Harry," Voldemort whispered into his ear. "Like your mother before you. A tactile/visual aether wizard has not been born in centuries, and your mother was the first witch to have such a combination in a century. I could make use of one of your talents and strength. There is a way to bond one wizard to another—a way that strengthens, not weakens. Take my mark, Harry, and you will be most favoured of my circle. You could be among the most powerful wizards in England. Women would bow to you, rather than you bowing to them. Look at her. Look at HER!"

He grabbed Harry's chin painfully and forced him to look at Burbage. "Look at her body, Harry. I know you think about it already—all boys do. Look at her breasts, Harry. Are they not inviting? Look at her vagina, boy. Look! When you are older, you are going to plough those fields, boy, and like it. Women will use that blasted, filthy hole to try and trick you into becoming their slaves, but if you are the master you can take what you want, rather than having to accept only what is offered. Isn't that what you want, Harry? Don't you want her? Don't you love her?"

Harry fought back tears not of pain, or of fright, but of shame at having to see a woman he loved and respected held up for display like a placard. "Yes," he whispered, in his mind only answering the last of those terrible questions.

Burbage closed her own eyes.

"If you want her, Harry, all you have to do is take her! Point your wand at her, and say _'Imperius_'. It is an intent-driven spell, the wand motion is irrelevant. If you _want_ her to be yours, and you have the power, you can make her do whatever it is you wish. Do you understand, Harry? Don't accept what paltry lies of love they offer. Take what you want! Do this, and you will be my most favoured. You will be a prince."

Harry raised a shaking wand at Burbage's naked form.

"Say it, Harry, and mean it."

Harry squeezed his eyes shut, opened his mouth, and shouted, "_Finite!"_

Magic rushed through his wand and washed away the simple bindings that held Burbage captive against the door. She collapsed to the floor with a sob, but a moment later charged.

"Foolish boy," Voldemort said, raising his wand to the charging witch.

Desperate, Harry grabbed the wand hand and bit Voldemort's wrist while pushing it away from Charity with all his might. He stumbled as a powerful hand struck the back of his head just below his right ear, but it was enough to give Charity time to tackle the man to the floor.

Voldemort's wand went tumbling to the ground as Charity struck him, only for Voldemort to easily flip her off and roll backward to his feet. He spun on one heel while bringing his foot up and around, catching the squib in the head and sending her sprawling toward the head of the dead basilisk. "It is a foolish wizard who does not know how to fight without a wand," he said coldly.

Harry pointed his wand and shouted, "_Petrificus Totalus!"_

Voldemort moved like lightning, ducking to the side of Harry's First Year jinx and diving toward Harry in a roll, white hands flashing. Harry backed away, knowing instinctively that if those hands reached him, he would die. He kept casting what jinxes he knew, which Voldemort easily side-stepped or ignored entirely, until with a satisfied smile he reached the spot where his wand fell.

"Well, I'd say this has gone on long enough," Voldemort said. "My first bondmate always did say I talked too much, up until I had her killed, of course. While it's true that you cannot directly cause harm to a bondmate, there are ways around that. Vampires, for instance. So, Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Lived, it is time for you to die. _Avada Kedavra!"_

Harry never even saw Burbage as she dove toward Voldemort, or even what she had in her hand—all he heard was a man's roar in pain; all he saw were two bodies hitting the wet, moss-covered floor of the chamber.

Suddenly the ghost from before—a mass of blue magical lines condensed in a vaguely humanoid shape—shot up into the air. "Damn you!" the ghost screeched before it shot upward through the roof of the cavern.

After a minute, Harry stumbled toward Burbage's dirty, naked form as she lay motionless over the equally still form of Professor Quirrell's body. Her hand was still clutching what looked like a large animal's fang, which she had driven deep into his chest right where his magical core would have been centred. He glanced up at the massive skeleton across the room and saw one of its fangs missing.

"Professor Burbage?" he asked. He could not see any magic in her, and her eyes were wide, staring, and empty. "Charity?" he asked again, more softly. He sank to his knees beside the bodies, reached out, and touched her soiled cheek.

Her skin was already cooling. "Charity."

He did not cry. Rather, he stared dumbly at the bodies before him, as if unable truly comprehend what it was that he was looking at. He held up his hand, surprised to see his own wand in it, and pointed it at her cheek, casting a First Year cleansing spell to remove the muck from her face.

"There, that's better," he said. His voice echoed in the chamber, oddly loud. He pushed himself to his feet and took off his outer school robe, which he draped over her as best he could. "It's cold down here," he said.

He walked to the door, and saw that without the glamour of a cottage, that it was lined in steel snakes. _"Open_," he hissed, unconsciously echoing Quirrell earlier.

The door opened obligingly, and he found himself once more in the filthy cavern. He retraced their earlier steps, casting a _Lumos_ with his wand to light the way, until he found the spiral stairs. He started up, saying _"Open"_ again to the snakes at the top of the stairs. Before his eyes the stone ceiling above seemed to melt away, exposing more spiral steps and dim light.

He emerged onto the floor of the third floor girl's bathroom to a ring of staring, stunned Ravenclaw upper years that he did not recognize. "What in Morgana's name are you doing here?" one asked.

Harry stared at her dumbly for a moment before he said, "I need help for Professor Burbage. Voldemort hurt her real bad."

At the name, the girls gasped and almost as one backed up a step. "That's not funny," the first girl who spoke said.

"She wasn't moving," Harry said. "She was just staring. Will you get help, please?"

Before the girls could even move the door burst open. Professors McGonagall, Snape and Dumbledore rushed into the room to the shock of the girls. All three pulled up at the sight of the filthy, bruised boy standing at the lip of a stairwell that occupied a spot that should have held a communal sink.

"Harry?" Dumbledore asked, moving closer. "Harry, where is Professor Burbage?"

"He said she was your great, great, granddaughter," Harry said.

"Who, Harry?" the Headmaster asked. "Who said that?"

"Voldemort did. He…I think he killed her, Professor. He made me kill Professor Quirrell's magic, and then he took over the body. He was a ghost. I told Professor McGonagall there was a ghost in him, but she thought I was drunk on butterbeer. But it was Voldemort, and he hurt her real bad and was going to kill me, but she saved me, but she wasn't moving. I tried to cover her with my robe, you see, but…"

He trailed off at the sight of tears in Dumbledore's eyes. The sight of the old man's grief was too much, and Harry collapsed to his knees, sobbing. "She's dead. Professor, she's dead. He promised she could be my new mum and I would be happy, but he was lying, and he took her away and I couldn't…I couldn't…."

He never saw Snape herding the stunned Ravenclaws out of the bathroom; he did not hear McGonagall's sob as she covered her face with her hands in despair. All he saw was the venerable, powerful old wizard sharing his grief. Pale, paper-dry hands took his shoulders with a shock of magic that reverberated through his young body, and pulled him into a hug.

"She was my great, great granddaughter, Harry," the old headmaster said. "And she was the last child alive to descend from me. She was all I had left."

Harry squeezed his eyes shut and clung to the old wizard, sobbing so hard he could hardly breathe. "She was all I ever had," he cried into the wizard's shoulders.

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

"He said Voldemort killed Professor Burbage!" Lisa Turnbull said to her friend Margaret Dinsdale.

"He had to have been lying!" Margaret said.

"Professor Dumbledore believed him," Lisa insisted. "And how else did he just appear in the middle of the bathroom? And now Professors Quirrell and Burbage are both dead!"

So the rumours went, flying through first the Ravenclaw, and then the Hufflepuff and Slytherin common rooms, before finally reaching the Gryffindors. Harry Potter claimed that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had returned as a ghost to kill the squib Muggle Studies Professor. Soon, owls were flying home and wild, terrified articles began to appear in the _Daily Prophet_, and Aurors in bright red robes like Kingsley Shacklebolt's arrived to take statements, which Harry repeated in a dull, dead-sounding voice, while Professor McGonagall look on with red-rimmed eyes.

After four days, all the students in the school, including First Years, gathered in the Great Hall. Professor Dumbledore stood at the centre of the staff table, draped not in his normal flamboyant purple robes, but in robes of pure black.

"I've called you here to confirm the rumours that two of our professors have lost their lives," the ancient wizard said in a booming voice. "Professor Quirinus Quirrell, a former Auror and Defence teacher, and Charity Burbage, our Muggle Studies Professor, were both found dead in a previously unknown chamber below the school. From eye-witness accounts, it appears that Professor Quirrell was possessed by a dark spirit and attempted to kill a student. Professor Burbage nobly saved this student's life, but at the cost of her own. Though she was never able to attend Hogwarts, she demonstrated the courage of a true Gryffindor and the loyalty of a Hufflepuff. She was the very best of everything this school could hope to offer, and she will be sorely missed."

Eyes from all over the hall turned and stared silently at Harry Potter, but Harry simply sat staring off into space, as if completely divorced from everything happening around him.

"There has been some speculation as to the nature of the possession," Dumbledore continued. "It appears to have been a demonic entity. Accordingly, we are activating wards this school has not seen since its earliest days to ensure this being never returns."

When the whispering ended, he continued: "We have suffered a terrible loss. Because of this, and after communication with the Governors and your parents, it has been decided that school will close early. Those who are taking their G.C.S.E. exams, O.W.L.s or N.E.W.T.s will stay for the remainder of the week for your exams. All other students will be leaving tomorrow. All end of year exams have been cancelled and final grades will be determined by overall performance. Thank you, and may Magic keep you all. Dismissed."

Harry said nothing as he drifted out, flanked by his roommates. He simply looked down at his feet, his face blank and his eyes empty. It seemed to all those who remembered the bright-eyed boy who first arrived that the magic had left him completely.

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**Author's Note**: Very special thanks as always to Teufel1987, JR and Miles for beta reading.


	16. A Year and a Day

A/N: Chap 15 review responses are available in my forums. Thank you all for reading. Now for a question. What do you do for a school year in which nothing out of the ordinary happens? There is no diary horcrux and the basilisk is dead. So what is there to write about? Nothing, really. This next chapter is the entirety of Harry's second year. Next chapter will start with third year, where Harry is older and more things start to happen.

Thank you all for reading.

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**Chapter Sixteen: A Year and a Day**

15th August, 1992

First Hogwarts Staff Meeting

"My friends please have a seat, thank you, thank you. Before we begin, I would like to welcome two new faces this year. First, I would like to welcome Auror Emmeline Vance, on loan to us from the Ministry of Magic to fill the vacant post of Defence Against the Dark Arts."

The rest of the staff politely welcomed the lithe, younger witch.

"Second, please welcome our new Muggle Studies professor, Geneva Pax. Miss Pax comes to us from Wetherby High School, in West Yorkshire, where she taught for five years. She holds the necessary certifications for all ICW-mandated Muggle subjects and comes highly recommended. She will be taking the secondary teaching position while our own Dulcette Orkin resumes the primary teacher position."

More polite applause for the Squib teacher, who was in her late thirties but looked like she was in her twenties.

"Now, Professor McGonagall has already conducted the Muggleborn orientation. Anything of note to report?"

"Fortunately not, Albus," McGonagall said. "No incidents of violent accidental magic, thank Morgana, nor any signs of unrest from the parents. I was interested to note, however, that the parents of the Creevey girl have already taken up correspondence with last year's batch of Muggle parents."

"Interesting," Dumbledore said neutrally. "Muggle parents find the transition of their children often to be one of great difficulty, so perhaps having a network of support will aid them all. Rolanda, I understand you conducted the orientation for incoming magically-raised students, anything of note?"

"Yes," she said in her normal curt tone. She sat to Snape's right, while Sinistra sat to his left. "Why are we letting Lovegood enroll? Totally aside from the risk she poses to Potter, the Lovegood family is proscribed. They have no place in magical society. On top of that, she kept talking about imaginary creatures—bargles and snotracks and other such! It was nigh impossible to conduct the orientation. I came close to hexing her."

"Ahh, yes. Nargles—magical mites that infect the brain, and crumple horned Snorkacks—a creature that somewhat resembles a cross between a rhinoceros and a jack rabbit."

The whole room stared at him and he smiled right back. "We must remember, my friends, that like Mr Potter, Ms Lovegood is a visual Aether. No tactile sense, I understand, but she sees things we cannot. Given the tragedies that have befallen her family, if she chooses to frame what she sees in allegories, who are we to dissuade her? As to her family's misfortunes… I think you of all people, Professor Hooch, would appreciate giving someone a second chance."

Hooch's eyes darted to Snape almost of their own accord. "Our circumstances are completely different. None in this room are proscribed."

"The child was nine years old when her family was proscribed, and shortly thereafter her mother was killed and she herself cruelly rendered infertile," Dumbledore said, no longer smiling. "She is not guilty of the things her mother did, and for the Covens to hold a child responsible for the actions of the adults around her is reprehensible."

Hooch's nostril's flared. "You are calling a decision of the Sabbat reprehensible?"

"Oh yes, Professor," McGonagall said. "I was leading the Sabbat when he did so. And he won his case quite convincingly, which is why Miss Lovegood will be enrolled, and should she pass all required examinations, will be exonerated from her mother's misfortunate actions upon graduation."

"Thank you, _Dame_ Minerva," Dumbledore said with a wink, reminding all at the table that McGonagall was the proxy leader of his own coven, since all his wives were dead and the McGonagall clan was a part of the Dumbledore Coven.

"Still," the headmaster continued, "there is a reasonable note of caution to be taken away from your orientation, Professor Hooch. Given Mr Potter's experiences last year, I believe it would be wise to perhaps pull Mr Potter aside until after the sorting, just to make sure."

"I'll take the opportunity to ensure the boy has been practicing his Occlumency over the summer," Snape volunteered.

"Excellent. Excellent. Anything else of note? Very good. Then let us discuss the classroom budgets for this year…"

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

Calliope Granger smiled a fond greeting as she saw Leah Thomas guiding her daughter Deanna into King's Cross station. The twelve-year old had certainly grown over the last year, but then again so had Hermione.

New to their intimate circle of parents, which Hermione laughingly called the League of Extraordinary Muggles, were Jason and Allie Creevey, with their daughter Colleen. They had a younger daughter named Denise who already had the brilliance in her brown eyes that confirmed her own magical blood. The couple were perhaps ten years younger than the Grangers, having their first child when both parents were 17.

They greeted each other with handshakes and kind words while their daughters grouped around each other to exchange notes on how their summers went. In addition to the Creeveys and Leah, Daniel and Shirley Boot had gradually drifted into the group over the summer, as had Sir Marcus Fletchley and his wife Allison Finch-Fletchley, whose daughter Justine was in Hufflepuff, as well as being one of Hermione's friends at school.

Calliope could never have imagined what good friends these people would become. In truth, Calliope had difficulty making new friends. In a professional setting with defined roles, she did quite nicely. But in personal, intimate settings she found it very, very difficult to make friends. It still astounded her that Edwin continued to pursue her despite the fact that on their first date she said no more than ten words the entire evening.

However, Hogwarts gave these other couples a common…well, not enemy, per se, but definitely a common point of interest that brought them together from all walks of life. For instance, Leah and her daughter had lived on the dole for years after her husband abandoned her, while the Fletchleys were members of the peerage, with astounding contacts both in government and business.

However, watching their daughters clumped together talking, it was possible to momentarily forget the various socio-economic strata they all came from.

Then _he_ arrived. Hermione saw him first and pointed, whispering. The other girls all looked up as well, and their attention is what drew the parents' eyes to the boy with the shaggy black hair and second-hand clothes who walked dejectedly into the station dragging his trunk. She noticed he didn't have his familiar this year and wondered why.

"He looks like someone just shot his dog," Edwin muttered, also noticing the boy.

Indeed, the bright, inquisitive eyes they remembered last year were dull and directed at his feet, and he moved with hunched shoulders as if carrying the weight of the world. They knew something terrible had happened the previous year just from Hermione, but looking at this boy, she could see for the first time who had paid the price for whatever it was that happened.

He trudged past the girls without even saying hello and disappeared into the hidden passage. In his wake, Hermione sighed. "Poor boy."

"He needs a hug," Justine agreed.

"Was that really Harry Potter?" Colleen Creevey asked brightly. "Why's he so sad?"

"His favourite professor died last year," Hermione said. "Actually, not just his. Professor Burbage was the best professor in the school, and we'll all miss her. But it seemed to hit Harry worst of all."

They were all startled when a moment later Harry re-emerged from the platform followed a moment later by Professor McGonagall herself. His trunk was gone, and he looked confused and even a little upset. Calliope strained to hear what she was saying, but could not.

"Ahhh," Sir Marcus Fletchley said. "That explains it. Sorry, Justine, girls, but it looks like Mr. Potter won't be joining you on the train today."

"But why?" Justine asked with just the hint of a petulant whine.

"None of that, dear," her mother said.

"It appears they are worried about another Aether on board," Sir Marcus said. "Sorry, my lip-reading is a bit rusty from my days in the service, but evidently they are determined to keep him and this other Aether separated. Sorry, loves, didn't get her name."

The girls stared at the man with shocked expressions.

"Well, interesting as that is," Edwin said, "it's almost time. Shall we go to the platform?"

Ahead, McGonagall and Potter stepped back into the hidden entrance. However, when the Muggleborns arrived, the two were gone. Instead, they saw a different head girl this year wearing Ravenclaw robes calling for all first years to gather around. Calliope watched with interest as she separated the genders just like she did last year. This time, however, there were thirty four girls and only eight boys.

She heard a voice beside him and saw the woman with the monocle from last year also observing the ratio with narrowed eyes. She met his expression and raised one elegant brow. "Dr Granger, I presume?"

Calliope stifled her surprise. "Yes?"

The woman stepped forward and offered a hand. Calliope was pleased not to feel any electric shock, but supposed it was because the witch was wearing her Veil, and no other magicals ever offered to shake hands. "My name is Amelia Bones. My daughter Susan is in Hufflepuff, and has spoken highly of your daughter."

Calliope racked her brain until Edwin beside her said, "She's the adorable red-head, right?"

"She is at that," Amelia said, her icy exterior softening. Edwin always did know just what to say to make a woman relax. She removed her wand and twirled it about in a complex fashion before returning her attention to the Grangers. "I wish to bring you a word of…advice, if you will. The Ministry of Magic is somewhat leery when it comes to the parents of Muggleborn children. Traditionally, the Ministry has enforced the Statutes of Secrecy to the point of paranoia, and are rather free with their _Obliviations_. When the Ministry sees a group of Muggle parents congregating together, it becomes nervous. When it is reported that an incoming Muggleborn is already aware of magical society because of those congregating Muggle parents, it becomes upset. And when centuries-old wizards and witches, some of whom remember Waterloo, become nervous, well…rarely do good things happen."

Calliope was fighting to keep her voice even. "What…what would you suggest we do to lessen this nervousness?"

"Be discreet," Bones said. "And understand the limitations of those whose job it is to monitor you—for rest assured you are being watched, as all Muggle parents are. There are elements within the Ministry that would gladly take your children away entirely, including your memories of them. Do not give them reason."

Beside her, Edwin clenched her hand. "Are you one of those elements?"

Amelia smiled bitterly. "If I were, I might still have my brother and his wives, my husband and sister wife, not to mention our three children. Instead, I have a single niece. The war was a terrible thing, and that group of children you see over there is proof. Just remember, Doctors Granger, that the men on the Wizengamot and the women in the Sabbat are, with few exceptions, a century old or more. Most would not know a toaster from a computer, and they most certainly have no comprehension of the Internet."

"But you do?"

"I am the Director of Magical Law Enforcement. I have a professional interest in learning about Muggle technology, at least within certain branches." She turned and looked back at the first year boys as they were herded like sheep onto the last car of the seven-car train, glaring. "There is a good probability that my family name will end with Susan—a family that can trace itself back a thousand years." She turned her attention back to the Grangers. "Be discreet, and do not trust witches or wizards more than absolutely necessary. For every genuinely good witch like McGonagall, there are a dozen more than would see your daughter removed from the competition for wizards. So, be discreet."

She flicked her wand again before turning to leave.

"That was interesting," Marcus Fletchley said as he joined them. "I was no more than two arm's lengths away, and yet I could not hear a word said, nor could I read her lips. Magic is a mysterious thing, is it not?"

"And frankly frightening as well," Edwin said. "Sir Marcus, before we leave we need to exchange email addresses. I'll tell you more later."

"Very well," the former military officer said.

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

"Happy Yule, my friends," Albus Dumbledore said, raising his glass to the staff members who remained in the castle over the hols. It was late, well after the feast, and all the students were tucked safely in their beds.

Snape and his lovely wives, McGonagall, Flitwick and Sprout raised their glasses in response. The other staff had returned to their homes for the hols, but the Heads of House always remained in the castle for their students who remained.

"Well, as has become tradition, tell me how has the year gone so far," the headmaster said after his toast.

"Minerva, I'm afraid I may have to kill those blasted Weasley twins," Snape said without preamble. "They very intentionally caused a wart-removal potion to turn into powerful acid that dissolved not only their cauldron, but their desk, the tiles under the desk, and three feet of the stone beneath that."

"How do you know it was intentional?" McGonagall said.

"I confiscated their notes," Snape said. "They were experimenting." He shuddered.

"Was anyone injured?"

"No," Snape said. "The acid immediately became inert in contact with human skin. Instead, we had three students rendered nude in seconds."

Flitwick sat up with interest. "An acid that destroys everything but people? Severus, that's brilliant!"

"Tell that to Ms Chang, Filius. If you'll remember she was one of the victims."

"Yes, yes," Filius said. "Given it was an all-girl's class, I'm not too concerned about that."

"So this was only Georgina?" McGonagall said.

"Georgina, yes. However, half of the notes were in Frederick's handwriting."

McGonagall sighed. "I can't say I'm surprised. Just be thankful you didn't have them earlier."

"On the other hand," Hooch said with sparkling eyes as she stared pointedly at Severus, "they are quite effective Beaters. That first game was quite exciting."

McGonagall did not bother to hide her smirk, nor Snape his grimace. "Aye, the Gryffindor team has come together quite well."

They fell silent for a time, before Dumbledore finally said, "And how has Mr Potter done?"

The heads of house shared a long look before McGonagall sighed. "He's become quite driven this year in his studies."

"I've noticed that as well," Flitwick said. "I'm rather proud of him, in truth. He's faced adversity and it has made him stronger, I believe. Perhaps not happier, but definitely stronger."

"Has he…opened up to any of the staff?" Dumbledore asked.

The silence that followed was disheartening. "He has…become quite somber," McGonagall finally said. "He does still interact well with his roommates, and has in fact become their leader. Not surprising, considering what happened last year. The boy is, if nothing else, magically quite strong. But he has not had any breakthroughs with staff like he did with Charity. She was special, Albus, for many reasons."

"She was indeed," Dumbledore said sadly.

"The boy has mastered Occlumency," Snape said suddenly.

Those at the table, even Dumbledore, turned and stared at the Potions Master. "When I tested his shields at the start of term, while the Lovegood girl was being sorted, he held me out successfully despite my best efforts. I believe he is trying to emulate some of the other abilities Lily pioneered."

"A twelve-year-old Occlumens," Dumbledore said. "Remarkable."

"Broken," Snape said. "The boy is broken, Albus. Having him with Petunia is not helping. I understand very well why, but I would recommend that next summer he be given time away from the Muggles. Perhaps time with Weasley or Longbottom. But right now, he is convinced no one on this Earth loves him, and in his mind has been given ample proof of that."

"How can you say that, Severus?" McGonagall said.

"Because I remember what it was like," he admitted.

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

Harry walked back to the castle tiredly, while behind him the rest of the team ducked into the training room to change. He was still not allowed, despite the fact that none of the girls tried to touch him at all.

His breath steamed with vapour as the sun set. A thin coating of snow remained from a late season fall, but he could feel spring coming. As he walked, he saw the pond in the distance with a thin layer of ice over it, and beside it, the tall stone and thatch hut where the game keeper lived. He heard the thin sound of a flute or reed from inside a lit window, and with it the smell of hot chocolate.

He didn't even realize what he was doing until he stood in front of the large door. He reached up a hand and knocked. The door opened a moment later, blinding Harry with the interior light until it was blocked out by the huge, bulking form of Hagrid. He looked down with his dark, beady eyes before saying, "'Arry Potter, that you?"

"Yes, sir."

"'Sir'?" Hagrid's laughter sounded like artillery. "Tain't no sir here, lad! Just Hagrid. Yer look cold, m'lad. Some hot chocolate for you?"

Harry smiled weakly and nodded while Hagrid stepped side. In his place came a horse-sized dog. "Never mind Fang, he won't hurt you none. Sit down, yer great pansy!" Fang whined and wagged his tail before flopping down on the floor at Hagrid's feet with a heavy _thud_. Harry sat on the edge of a bed that looked more like a plateau, and moments later found a litre-sized mug of piping hot chocolate in his hands.

"Like a touch o' cinnamon in mine, hope yer don't mind none."

Harry sipped it and grinned. "That's really good, Hagrid. Thank you."

"No problem, lad, glad for a bit 'o company, to be sure."

"Are you out here all alone, then?"

"And why wouldn't I be?" Hagrid said. "Half giant, you see. Me magic don't work well with a wand, and what witch in her right mind would want a thirty pound babe? Professor Dumbledore, though, he gave me a job when none others would, Merlin bless his soul. Great man, Dumbledore. Great man. So, lad, yer team took first round, but those 'Claws sure did put a beaten on yer."

"Yeah, they're really good," Harry confessed. "It was a fun game, though."

"Righto. So, seein' as ye'r here and I t'ain't had no company in years, why don't yer tell me 'bout your world. What's been happenin' to yer?"

Harry couldn't say why, but there was something about the simple honesty of the half-giant that made him open up in a way he had not been able to before. Moreover, Hagrid was an attentive listener, hanging on his words as if they were the most important thing he'd ever heard. Given his lonely life, Harry reasoned they were at the least the most entertaining.

Outside the hut, hidden in an invisibility cloak held in trust for Harry, Dumbledore smiled before wiping one lone tear from his cheek.

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

"That new Ravenclaw seeker is something else," a boy two rows up said.

Hermione frowned to herself as she watched Harry Potter and Cho Chang vying for the snitch. With the scores neck-and-neck, the Snitch would decide the winner not just of the game, but of the Quidditch Cup for the whole year.

"I think I might even consider bonding with that one," the other boy said. "She's got it all—looks, skills, and she's part of the Patil Coven, so they're as pureblooded as you please with enough money to buy Merlin himself."

Beside Hermione, Parvati giggled. "That's Cedric Diggory," she whispered. "Fourth year. I heard he was a poofter, but it doesn't sound like it, does it?"

Hermione managed to sneak a glance at the handsome teen who was sitting next to another Hufflepuff fourth year, watching the Seeker in discussion with admiring eyes. She turned her attention back to the game.

"I wouldn't mind bonding with Harry," Parvati said herself. "He's quite handsome, isn't he? Cho can have Cedric."

"He's a little short," Hermione said, hesitant to commit herself to any discussion about bonding. For Morgana's sake, she was only thirteen!

In front of them, a fourth year turned and said in all seriousness, "He's a powerhouse, Granger. But you don't have to worry about that. Nor you, Patil. That boy's going to be bonded before he even takes his OWLs, I bet money on it."

"By whom?" Hermione demanded, incensed at the idea of a fourteen year old boy engaging in such…activities.

"By someone older, prettier, smarter, and with better lineage than either you," the Fourth Year said with a sneer.

"Won't be you then, you ugly old slag," Parvati said, defending her year mate just on principle. "And I'll have you know my father is an Elder, and my Mama Aahuti is a Dame. If I wanted, Harry would be honoured to have me as a wife!"

The fourth year glared before turning her attention back to the game, just in time to see the Snitch drop and Harry do his trademark, almost impossible to copy flip and drop. Poor Chang did her best to follow, but he was so fast he never gave her a chance to get into position, and snatched the Snitch right out of the air.

The Gryffindor's roared their approval—two years running now for the cup! As they started shuffling from the pitch, a first year with bright red hair sidled up beside them. "So, do you two know Harry?"

Hermione stared down at the girl, whose face was covered with freckles and whose brown eyes gleamed with more than just magic. "Yes, I suppose. Harry and I were in orientation together."

"I heard that he touched you," the girl said brightly. "That he touched you on your chest. Did he?"

Hermione looked down at her quickly developing chest before nodding. "Yes, I suppose he did."

The other girl seemed almost to melt at the thought. "So what did it feel like? Was it warm? The book said it was like a warm snuggly blanket wrapped around your heart."

Hermione snorted, while beside her Parvati said, "Oh, you mean the book Elfaba Damples wrote? Wasn't that great? He was so funny at sorting, but not as bad as that Looney girl this year."

"You mean Luna?" the red-head said, puffing a strand of hair from her eyes. "Yeah, she's always been strange, but wandering out of the hall staring at the floor like that, right during the sorting? Poor girl's a bit daft. We grew up in the same town, but of course the Lovegoods are proscribed, so we never played together after."

Hermione remembered thinking that herself when Luna Lovegood, with the same distracted air Harry had his first year, stumbled from the gentle push of the girl behind her, and started walking toward the stool. She looked down half way there, though, and exclaimed, "Snorkacks!" and started running in strange patterns around the floor while a stunned, bemused staff watched, until she ran clear out of the hall. Amidst the laughter, McGonagall had to personally fetch the girl back to the hall to be sorted.

At the time she laughed with the rest, until the next morning she saw Ron telling Harry about it. Harry shrugged and said, "She saw the elves under the floor, probably. It scared the wits out of me, to be honest. When I fell off the stool I could feel them too, but McGonagall told me it was okay. Wasn't her fault, really, you know?"

After that, Hermione felt less inclined to laugh at the odd girl, though she rarely saw her.

She came back to herself as Ginny was telling Parvati how she planned to bond Harry as soon as she was old enough. "Mum said it was okay, too, as long as I was at least thirteen and had my menses," she said.

"Thirteen?" Hermione said, staring.

"Well, if I'm going to get him I have to do it young, before some older slag like that fourth year back there poaches him. He's going to be mine, you'll see. Bye!" She skipped ahead to join the other first year girls.

"Thirteen," Hermione muttered. "I'm thirteen, and I'm not even thinking about…that."

"I am," Parvati said bluntly. "Hermione, there are only four Gryffindor boys in our year, and six of us girls. And there are a lot of older girls looking too. I don't want to be a spinster, Hermione. And Padma doesn't either."

"So I suppose you and your twin want to both have Harry, then?"

Parvati shook her head. "Siblings can't bond with the same man, it's the law," she said sadly. "And it'd be kind of gross anyway. Like I want to share a man with my sister. Gross. And besides, my mum has sort of hinted that Padma and I won't actually have much of a choice. Papa and Mama Aahuti and traditionalists. I'll probably be bound to a Hindi wizard."

Hermione did not know what to say to that. "Come on, let's go before all the butterbeer is gone."

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

The League of Extraordinary Muggles had its own chat room now. The evening Hermione and the others returned home for the Summer Holidays, Edwin and Calliope logged on to the chat room. Over the course of the year the Creeveys introduced the league to Tim and Marian Robbins, whose daughter Demelza was Denise's roommate. Greetings were had by all, until Sir Marcus Fletchley wrote:

_Interesting News on the Home Front. PM knows about the Tricksters_. It was the term they agreed on, since they did not want to give the magical ministry any excuse to act.

_Makes sense, I suppose, _Tim Robbins wrote. _Be hard to hide from the Crown completely. _

_Knowing isn't all. PM is NOT happy with the Tricksters. Found more about this war of theirs. 214 of our people killed by Tricksters in late 70s. Most were blamed on IRA_, Marcus continued.

_Did Crown respond?_ Edwin wrote.

_It tried. Every many sent down in the sortie went missing, still not recovered 15 years later. Nasty buggers they are_.

Edwin looked at his wife, who crowded next to him to see the monitor. "I don't like this world our daughter's in," she said. "I don't like it one bit."

"Neither do I," Edwin admitted. "Come on, love, nothing more we can do tonight. Let's go to sleep."

They thanked Sir Marcus for the information and logged off after setting up a time for their next chat.

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**Author's Note**: Very special thanks as always to Teufel1987, JR and Miles for beta reading.


	17. Politics

A/N: Chap 16 Review Responses are available in my forums. Thank you for reading.

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**Chapter Seventeen: Politics**

"I am certainly pleased at the thought, Albus, but also curious," Dame Augusta Longbottom said. "Neville is a shy boy, and by his own words he is not the closest of Mr Potter's friends. Rather, the Weasley's youngest boy is. So why ask for Potter to stay here?"

"Arthur Weasley has informed me that his youngest daughter is rather intent on bonding with the boy before either are ready," Albus Dumbledore said as he sipped the tea Augusta's house elves prepared for him upon his scheduled appearance. One did not appear unannounced before Augusta Longbottom, Dame of the powerful traditionalist Croaker Coven. Her brother represented the coven in the Wizengamot, but the true power sat before him. "I daresay Dame Molly is supporting her intent, regardless of Arthur's concerns."

"Bonding is a matter for the Dames to attend to," Augusta Longbottom said firmly. "However, the youngest girl is what, thirteen?"

"She just turned twelve, in fact," Dumbledore said. "She has stated she intends to be bonded with Harry before she reaches fourteen."

August snorted. "Well, one can't fault the child for her enthusiasm. However, I can see where it might be a concern having perhaps the most eligible young wizard in Britain in a house of rather lusty young women. The Weasleys and Prewetts are rather notorious for their appetites."

"Precisely."

"Very well, then, Neville will be pleased at the least. Anything of concern I should be aware of?"

"Only that he was raised in a Muggle home. He has attended Wizarding Studies, of course, but there is always a difference between the theory and reality."

"Indeed, although that girl Hooch does well enough. When is Snape going to father children, Albus? He's been married for the past ten years!"

"I understand actually that his second wife is expecting their first born," Albus said. "Sadly, Rolanda has miscarried three times and has been informed it would be unwise to make another attempt."

Dame Augusta snorted. "Then he should put her aside and marry another girl—perhaps that Squib you used to replace Burbage? She's fertile enough, and her babes would be magic enough."

Albus smiled, though it took all his skill as a politician to do so. "I'm sure you remember, Dame Augusta, that Hooch bonding with Snape was a part of his parole. There is a magical contract in place. He married Aurora when they found Rolanda could not bear a child. I assure you he has done his duty as set forth by the Sabbat."

"Hmmph," Dame Augusta said. "Well, men will be men, I suppose. So do you have any plans for Mr Potter?"

Dumbledore smiled politely. "Only to see him whole, healthy and educated."

"Of course, you sly old man. Have you given thought to marrying again as well, Albus? What has it been, now, sixty years?"

"Sadly, my dear, I am too old to risk a bonding," Dumbledore said. "Love is a younger man's realm, I'm afraid."

"Posh, Algie took a bride not five years ago, and he's seen a hundred and fifty years."

"He's a child," Dumbledore said, smiling still. "Rest assured, in that area I am quite done."

"Very well. So, tell me about this new budget the Wizengamot is pushing through. Algie tells me the Umbridge and Malfoy Covens are actually pushing for cuts in the Auror division. I do wish the Bones Coven hadn't suffered so in the last war. If Amelia still had a good coven behind her with an Elder in the Wizengamot, she'd put a stop to that! As it is, the Sabbat will not think twice about giving the Ministry less money."

The talk devolved into politics for the remainder of the afternoon. By the time he left, Albus felt as if he had just undergone a ten hour session of the Wizengamot. However, the Croaker Coven was one of the most powerful of the covens; consequently he handled Dame Augusta with great care, despite her constant bonding proposals. The woman was a hundred and eighty years old—she had seen four generations of her family dead in the last war, found herself caring for her great, great grandson, and still acted as if nothing were wrong.

He wasn't sure he was doing Harry a favour, but after what Arthur told him about Dame Molly and young Ginevra, and taking into account Severus's insistence that Harry needed time away from Privet Drive, he decided the Burrow was just not a safe place for the boy to visit. And though he had misgivings about Dame Augusta, he also knew she was firmly against the idea of bonding boys before age fifteen.

After his meeting, he returned to Hogwarts with a sigh of relief to be back in the castle, and sought out his desk. His body did not ache anymore because he rarely felt anything at all. Few wizards reached his age, and so he never truly understood what it meant to approach a third century until perhaps fifty years ago, when he began noticing a lessening of his sense of touch.

As had become a custom each week, he took a needle and poked his skin on his right hand. He saw the needle pierce the skin as if it were wax, and for the longest time nothing happened, until finally he saw the tissue around the puncture redden before a single drop of blood welled up. His magic immediately pulled the precious fluid back into his body and healed the small wound. Another aspect of age—the magic became more attuned to self-healing, which was good because Albus cut and bruised himself constantly without even noticing.

His wards alerted him to company and he looked up to see the approaching year's Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher arrive, since Emmeline Vance returned to her normal Ministerial duties. "Remus, welcome!" he said, motioning toward a chair. "Settled in?"

"I am, thank you, Albus," the man said with a tired, wry smile. "How went your visit?"

"Well as can be when meeting with a coven leader," Dumbledore said. "She shall host Harry for the remainder of the summer, if you care to fetch him tomorrow. I'll owl him a letter tonight to let him know to expect you."

"Thank you, sir," Remus said. He sighed and said, "I stayed away, like you asked."

"I know it was difficult," Albus said. "I sacrificed a great deal of Harry's happiness to ensure his survival. However, now that he has started school, it is time for him to start learning more about our world, and those friends of his families that remain in it."

Remus nodded a moment before he gave the headmaster a shrewd look. "May I ask, sir, how you kept the Griffin Coven from forcibly taking custody of Harry? I've met Delia Griffin, and she strikes me as a very hands-on witch."

Dumbledore gave the young man a smile and said, "Remus, did you ever wonder why the Griffin Coven supported Lily when she refused to allow James a second wife?"

"Not really. I know that despite public appearances she was not fond of Lily."

"Indeed, there was a great deal of animosity between them, but coven dames rarely do anything based on personal feelings. Dame Delia defended Lily's choice of not allowing James a second wife. I now know this was because Dame Delia did not want the Potter family to break off into its own coven, and with an Aether spouse and James's inherent power, that could have happened. But with James satiated with a single wife, the Griffins retained that family and its tithe within its ranks."

"I never knew that," Remus admitted. "She is a sly old bird, isn't she?"

"Indeed, she is," Albus said. "And I have no doubt that that Augusta is even now telling her that Mr Potter will be her guest."

Remus's eyes widened. "What…"

"Wizengamot Elders also do not do anything based on personal feelings alone," Albus said with a sparkle in his eyes. "Whatever else can be said for them, the Griffin Coven is a Light coven. They have in the past diametrically opposed anything the dark families proposed, and I do not want Amelia's budget cut any more. Since the Bones Coven was killed in the last war, I'm hoping that Amelia will ally herself with either the Griffins, Croakers, Lloyds or the Starlings, and given that her niece and only living relative is a classmate of Mr Potter's, she might be enticed to visit as well."

"So…you're trying to bond him to Susan Bones?"

"What? No, my friend. I'm simply hoping for a friendship that could give Amelia a thought or two."

Remus shook his head. "I hate politics."

"Alas, so do I, my friend. So do I."

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

"Neville?"

"Yeah, Harry?"

"Your Gran is sort of scary."

"Yeah, I know," Neville said. The two boys snickered a little before they resumed their game of wizarding tennis. Harry had mentioned he was thinking of taking it as an elective for his weekend elective in addition to Quidditch that morning, and so the two started playing.

Harry lost the first two games simply because he didn't know how to play, but by the third he was using reflexes honed by two years of Quidditch to start his own winning streak.

It was his fourth day at the Longbottom Estate in Holywell, just a stone's throw north of Newcastle upon Tyne and an hour's walk from the North Sea. Summer days were long and comfortable here, and they often spent their afternoons walking along the edge of the cliffs looking out over the sea. He arrived in the company of the new Defence teacher, a worn-looking man who identified himself as Remus Lupin.

Though neither boy said as much, these past four days were the best either ever had, and Harry learned a lot about his friend. In many ways, the two had a great deal in common. Dame Augusta never hit Neville, starved him, or forced him to live in a cupboard. In fact, his bedroom alone was as large as the living room and kitchen of Number 4 Privet Drive combined. He had the best clothes, almost any toy he wanted, and delicious food on par with what they had at Hogwarts.

However, Dame Augusta had never hugged Neville, ever, or given any kind words, and his Uncle had even thrown him out a window to test whether he was a Squib or not. Harry learned that Neville's parents and grandparents were killed almost days after Harry's were, by the last rabid followers of Voldemort.

He also learned that Neville would be replacing his uncle as the next Elder on the Wizengamot when the time came, and that would result in a shift of the coven away from the Croaker line to the Longbottom line.

"_Tenniz!"_ Neville yelled as he served. Harry did not immediately move for the ball, but instead waited to see which way it would turn. The ball reached the air above the net, spun in a tight corkscrew and then shot to the left.

Harry dove forward and hit the ball in a wild backhand. Had it been Muggle tennis, the ball would have flown off the green and into the burn. Being wizard tennis, the ball swung in a great parabolic curve around the net entirely, forcing Neville to run to hit the ball back. Unlike Muggle tennis, points could only be scored if the ball hit within the court.

Neville's swing did not arrive in time, and the ball bounced a few feet away on his side of the net. "Point, set and match," Neville said, plopping down in the grass tiredly. "You're just too fast."

"Years of running for my life," Harry said with a wry smile as he walked around the net and joined his friend.

The Longbottom Estate bordered the Seaton Burn between Holywell and the coast, with a beautiful copse of chestnut trees to separate the estate from the Muggle road. From the outside, it looked as if the estate was comprised of only five acres, but folded magically within those five acres were almost a thousand acres of farmland that grew both edible Muggle crops as well as Magical cash crops. The field was one of the primary sources of the estate's annual income, and in high summer was one of the most beautiful places Harry had ever seen.

The two boys remained where they were for several minutes before an elf appeared. "Master Longbottom, sir," the elf said with a cute curtsy. "Dame Gran says you and Master Potter are to be cleaning up for guests tonight."

"Er, I don't actually have any suitable clothes," Harry said worriedly.

"We purchased clothes for you, Master Potter," the elf said. "Dame Gran's orders. Come now. Guests very important. Must look presentable."

Neville sighed. "So much for fun."

Harry grinned. "Race you back."

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

Harry had a difficult time not ogling himself in the mirror. The dress robes looked strange and felt stranger—it was as if someone turned a tuxedo into a dress. However, the fabric felt amazingly soft against his skin. 'Acromantula silk', Neville called it. He tried his best to not think how much the clothes cost, and instead concentrated on trying to make himself presentable.

He centred himself with a deep breath—Occlumency was not easy for him, but it was something he worked on daily in the hopes that it would get easier. In fact, through his whole second year it had improved significantly, even Professor Snape admitted so, however grudgingly.

Using that feeling of centeredness to calm his nervousness, he stepped out of the ornate, spacious guest room he had been using since his arrival. Neville was also just coming out, looking as nervous and put-upon as Harry felt.

"Any idea who's coming?" Harry asked.

Neville shrugged. "Probably important people," he said. "Coven dames or Wizengamot elders or some such."

The two arrived at the formal reception room and paused just outside the door. "Now, remember what I told you?" Neville asked.

"Yep. Don't offer to shake hands, nod my head a little to the men, bow to the ladies, and pretend to smile."

"And for Merlin's sake don't grab any girl's boobs!"

"Got it," Harry said with a laugh.

The young men walked in to the room, pausing inside to get their bearings and see who was where. Dame Augusta held court on the far side of the room, surrounded by equally honed and aged witches. A small clump of wizards stood to one side, crystal flute glasses in hand. Some smoked thick cigars, but Harry couldn't smell any smoke at all.

Then, to his shock, he saw Susan Bones, Hannah Abbott and Sally Anne Perks standing in a close circle, giggling and smiling. "Oh Merlin, girls," Neville whispered, wide-eyed. "Tell me I don't have to talk to them, please tell me."

"Okay, you don't," Harry said.

"Hello, boys," an old wizard said. If not for Occlumency, Harry would have jumped out of his shoes. Beside him, Neville sighed imperceptibly. "Good evening, Elder Croaker."

"What kind of greeting is that!" the old, balding wizard said.

"Hello, Uncle Algie," Neville amended.

"Better. And this must be the estimable Harry Potter."

"Good evening sir," Harry said with a polite nod.

"And good evening to you, young man," Algie Croaker said. "Come over here, Harry, let me introduce you to the men folk before those harridans get their hooks in you. Delbert, look who we have here!"

Harry guessed the man who looked up was younger than Croaker just by the fact his skin was not quite as translucent, but he was still far from young. The man's magic burned red, like Croaker's. "And who is that, Algie?"

"This, my dear boy, is Harry Potter. Harry, this is Delbert Griffin, Elder of the Wizengamot for the Griffin Coven. Your coven, in fact."

Harry blinked but kept his face neutral. He remembered the article that Neville sent him where his mother mentioned the Griffin coven. "An honour to meet you, sir," he said with the partial nod Neville taught him.

"The honour is mine," Griffin said. "If I may be so bold, boys, would you mind dropping your veils?"

Harry and Neville shared a look before doing so. Griffin nodded in satisfaction. "It's hard to see with those blasted Veils, but without…you are definitely a Potter. But those eyes—it's as if you took the very best of both your parents. James was a fine young man, and Lily was an extraordinary witch. I understand you take after her in other areas as well."

"Yes, sir,"

"You're staying with the Longbottoms, then?" he asked.

"Yes sir, for the past four days. It's been really nice."

"And where do you stay otherwise?"

"With my Aunt and Uncle. They're Muggles, sir."

"I see," Delbert said, a tad darkly.

"And tucked away under the most powerful blood wards this side of China," Croaker added. "Remember what happened to Yaxley years back? Whatever else you can say for that old fox, Dumbledore knows wards."

"The women are waiting," Delbert said. "Mr Potter, my wife would be very interested in meeting you, if you have a moment."

Of course, there was no question of Harry not 'having a moment'. He and Neville followed the two older wizards across the room to the gaggle of witches, who parted and watched the small procession with steady glowing eyes.

"Delia, look who I happened to run into," Delbert said lightly. "Harry Potter, this is my surviving wife and your family's coven leader, Dame Delia Griffin, Matriarch of the Griffin Coven."

"Dame Delia," Harry said, bowing from the waist this time, also as instructed by Neville. "An honour."

"The honour is mine," the older witch said. Like her husband, her skin was as pale as milk with a hint of magic shining through, while blue eyes shone coolly.

Harry was startled to see cool, moist magic within her chest. "You were in Slytherin, Dame Griffin?" Harry asked, genuinely surprised.

Delbert burst out laughing, while Delia's lips curled at the side. However, from her magic and her eyes Harry doubted she was amused. "Your mother asked the same thing when we first met," she said. "The Griffin Coven is Light Traditionalist. We side firmly with the light factions against those who advocate the use of darker magics and rituals, but we also firmly uphold the culture and traditions of magical society. Such a stance is not universal to Gryffindor. Besides, opposites attract, as they say."

Looking from the old Gryffindor to the older Slytherin, Harry tried to see it but simply couldn't. He began to wonder if, a century ago, a fifteen-year-old Delbert Griffin found himself bonded through a moment of weakness with an older woman.

"He has his mother's eyes," Delbert said.

"In more ways than one, it seems," Delia said with a brief, humourless smile at her husband. "Well, Mr Potter, Dame Augusta was telling me of your visit. Have you enjoyed yourself?"

"I have, Dame Delia," Harry said. "Dame Augusta has been a wonderful hostess, and I cannot thank her enough for allowing me to visit."

"It has been a pleasure, Mr Potter," Augusta said, somehow sounding pleased without any hint showing on her stern face. "I am glad you and Neville have become such close friends. And since you're here, may I also introduce you to Madame Amelia Bones, head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. I believe you know her niece?"

Harry bowered to the younger witch with the straw-coloured hair and monocle. "Not closely, but we've seen each other across the tables. They keep a tight rein on us."

"Indeed they do," Bones said. "I heard a great deal about you from Auror Vance. She was very impressed with your class performance last year."

"I appreciate that, Madam," Harry said.

"She mentioned that you were also an Occlumens."

The other adults seemed startled by this news, and beside him even Neville seemed surprised. "I…er, well…I had a bout of accidental magic my first year that hurt a classmate. It was suggested that Occlumency might help control it and I think it has."

"A thirteen-year-old Occlumens?" Delbert Griffin said. "Remarkable!"

"Lily was fourteen, herself," Delia noted.

"I used Mum's notes, from her book," Harry admitted. "If I did it faster, it's because she helped me."

"Well said," Dame Augusta nodded in approval.

"Dinner is served," a deep male voice announced. Harry could not tell where it came from.

The children did not eat with the adults, not that Harry was expecting to. Rather, he, Neville and the three young witches had their own table in a corner not far from the longer table where the adults ate. It was an awkward meal simply because Harry had never spoken with Susan, Sally Anne or Hannah. All three girls were pretty, in their own way. Despite Susan's aunt's colouring, her own hair was copper red, while Sally and Hanna were both prettily blonde. All three girls had brown eyes with the normal gleam of magic in them, and all three had earthen tones to their magic.

"So what have you been doing this summer?" Susan finally asked.

"Playing tennis and exploring the coast, mostly," Neville said. Neville, at least, had met the girls before Hogwarts. "And you?"

"I've been staying at Hannah's, mostly," Susan said. "Her mum is great."

"That's good," Neville said with a wry smile. "So, what are the Bones, Abbot and Perks families doing at a gathering of Griffins and Croakers?"

"Being courted," Susan said darkly. "The Bones Coven is gone, and Auntie is looking for some help in the Wizengamot. Without a coven, she can't have an Elder or a Dame speak for her, so she's going to join another coven. We dined with the Starling coven Dame last night, and tomorrow night we're going to meet Dame Brannwen of the Lloyds. Did you know she's almost four hundred years old? But Auntie is thinking either the Griffins or Croakers, since the Lloyds don't actually do much anymore and the Starlings had committed to other agreements."

Harry looked over his shoulder at the table. Dame Augusta was pure Gryffindor, her core burning bright and steady. He could not say she was a nice woman at all, but from what he could see of her magic, she seemed honourable. But Delia Griffin made him feel very uncomfortable for some reason.

He looked back to the girls, and said very softly, "Croaker."

Susan frowned a little. "What are you on about, Harry?"

"Tell your Auntie, Croaker," Harry said. "There's something not right about Dame Griffin. Her magic is cold."

The three girls stared at him in surprise for the longest time before Susan finally nodded. "Okay, Harry," she said. "I'll let her know. Thank you."

Harry smiled, and then his face went completely blank. "You and Hannah will bond with Neville. You must."

Hannah dropped her spoon and the clang of it rang through the room, attracting adult notice. "What are you talking about?" Neville hissed.

Harry blinked. "What do you mean?"

"You said…" Susan leaned forward to whisper. "You said Hannah and I should bond with Neville."

"No I didn't," Harry said. He looked at Neville. "Did I?"

Neville nodded speechlessly.

"Oh, er, well, sorry about that." Harry looked down at his plate and shivered. "You know, I'm not feeling that well. Neville, how do I excuse myself?"

"Ask Gran," he said. "Come on, I'll go with you."

Harry nodded, and Sally whispered, "Harry, your nose is bleeding!"

Harry touched his nose with the cloth napkin and pulled it away stained with red. He stood a little too fast, and Neville stood with him. At the head of the table, Dame Longbottom stared at the two boys with open disapproval. "Is there something we can help you with?"

"I'm sorry to interrupt," Neville said. "Gran, Harry is not feeling well. May we be -?"

Suddenly Harry's eyes rolled up into his head and magic burst around him in a white flash and a gust of wind that pushed his friend away. In a harsh, guttural voice that made Neville's stomach twist in a knot, Harry screamed out: "**The Dark Lord is coming. His marked equal will rise. The Sabbat will break, the elders shall die. The Dark Lord is coming. His marked equal will rise. Equal and opposite shall clash; one shall live and one shall die**!"

Rivulets of blood began to run from Harry's nose as the adult diners stood in alarm. Suddenly Harry keeled over backwards, barely caught with a levitation charm by Madame Bones. As she settled him gently on the floor he began to convulse and moan in pain.

"Well, that certainly didn't sound good," Delbert Griffin said into the stunned silence that followed.

* * *

sp

sp

**Author's Note**: Very special thanks as always to Teufel1987, JR and Miles for beta reading.


	18. As If From a Dream

A/N: A bit of a transition chapter to finish setting up the next year's story arc.

* * *

**Chapter Eighteen: As If From A Dream**

Harry woke with the worst throbbing headache he had ever experienced. The pain was so bad he did not even want to open his eyes, but he kept hearing a _swishing_ sound right over his face, and so eventually had to look. He found himself staring into an oval shadow framed by a thick woollen grey cowl. "Gahhhh!" he shouted.

"Calm down," a feminine voice emerged from the cowl. "I'm an Unspeakable from the Department of Mysteries. I will not harm you."

"Why the scary mask, then?" Harry demanded.

"Because it looks scary, why else?" the voice said, somehow conveying sarcasm, impatience and humour all at the same time. "How do you feel?"

"Like I have an elf going crazy in my head with a hammer."

"Your stomach?"

"Like I sicked-up."

"Watch my wand," the faceless woman said. She held it up and Harry found himself captivated by the scintillating rainbow of colours.

"Wow, what spell is that?" he asked.

"What do you see?"

"Colours … A whole rainbow, with some glow-y blobs and colours and things flickering around it."

"Subject is seeing auras," she said.

"Who are you talking to?" Harry asked.

"A recorder," she said curtly. "Do you remember what happened?"

"I was eating, and started feeling a little sick. I remember I had a bloody nose, but not much other than that."

The woman leaned back from him, allowing him to see the spacious room he was using at the Longbottom home. The woman in the cowl was sitting on the edge of his bed. "Mr Potter, to your knowledge have you ever said anything to someone that they remember, but that you don't? It might have been innocuous, or rather profound, but it would have been around other people."

Harry furrowed his brows in thought, before he finally remembered one thing. "Professor McGonagall told me I said a couple of classmates should bond, but I didn't remember it."

With the cowl, he could not see the woman's expression as she sat with the shadowed cowl pointed in his general direction. "Please, can you tell me what's happened?" he finally asked. "Why do I feel so bad?"

"We are still researching," she said, "but as soon as we know for sure, we'll let you know. In the meantime, you should rest. No magic for at least two days—which should not be a problem for an underage wizard."

"Okay," Harry said.

The Unspeakable stood and drifted out of the room, as if floating. A moment later Neville walked in. "Wow, you okay, Harry?"

"Yeah," Harry muttered. "So what happened?"

"No idea," Neville said. "I remember you had a nosebleed, and next thing I know everyone has gone home and I wake up in my bed the next day."

With a start, Harry realized it was already morning. "So you don't know what happened?"

Neville shook his head. "No idea."

Harry collapsed back into his pillow with a moan. "I don't think I'm going to be much fun today, Neville. I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about it," Neville said with an easy smile. "I'll work in the greenhouses for a while. That always calms me down."

"Neville?"

"Yeah, Harry?"

"Thanks for…well, you know. Being my friend."

Neville smiled shyly. "My pleasure, Harry. Thanks for being my friend too."

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

Deep within the bowels of the Ministry of Magic, hidden away from all but the most privileged members of magical society, nestled the Department of Mysteries. The department answered to no one arm of the Ministry, but instead operated under charter from the International Confederation of Wizards. This wasn't always the case, but after Voldemort's attempt to take over the Ministry of Magic the ICW wanted to keep its finger on the pulse of magical England, and the Department of Mysteries was the tool they used to accomplish it.

Those seated at the round table in the department's sole conference room were not Unspeakables themselves, but were one of the most powerful voting blocks in the Wizengamot. Dame Augusta Longbottom, Dame Delia Griffin, Elder Delbert Griffin, Elder Algie Croaker, and Elder Arthur Weasley looked up as the last three arrived.

Dumbledore shone to all of them with magic and age, while the Unspeakable beside him was the exact opposite, purposely cast in enchanted shadows. Of the three late comers only Amelia Bones appeared as a normal witch.

Dumbledore sat with an audible sigh after Amelia was seated, while the Unspeakable simply stood. "Well, it seems we've had an eventful day," the headmaster began.

"The Potter boy delivered a true prophecy," the Unspeakable said abruptly. "Everyone who witnessed it, outside of those in this room, have been _Obliviated_ as per standard procedure, and the prophecy has been delivered to the Hall of Prophecy."

From the centre of the table, a shimmer appeared followed by the young man's face, his eyes rolled up into his head and his hair blowing in an a magical wind. His words came with an otherworldly voice: "**The Dark Lord is coming. His marked equal will rise. The covens will fall, the elders shall die. The Dark Lord is coming. His marked equal will rise. Equal and opposite shall clash; one shall live and one shall die"**

Bones shuddered. "I was there, and that still frightens me," she said. "Was…was Lily ever confirmed as a prophet?"

"We do not believe Potter is a prophet," the Unspeakable corrected. "This is more in line with an oracular event. He is an unwitting receptacle for magic, whereas a prophet has conscious knowledge of what she sees. He showed all the classic signs of an oracle following a prophecy—headache, painful stomach, nosebleed, seeing auras and no knowledge whatsoever of what he said. Further, he said he once had a minor prophecy regarding two students in front of Minerva McGonagall. We have just returned from the school where McGonagall confirmed the episode."

"And no, Amelia, Lily was not an Oracle as far as we know," Dumbledore said. "She did, however, have some prophetic abilities. She told me personally two months after Harry was born that she would not live to see him start Hogwarts. She saw her own death, I believe, but not in sufficient detail to attempt to change what she saw. It is, in fact, not uncommon for Aethers to receive glimpses of the future. For instance, last year a young Aether told me that I would fall from the astronomy tower, but that the fall would not kill me. I found it rather encouraging, as it seems I am tougher than I look."

"We are talking around the point," Arthur Weasley, a pudgy man with thinning red hair, said. "The Dark Lord is coming'. Albus, surely he's not talking about…You-Know-Who, is he?"

Albus regarded the witches and wizards around the table carefully. "What I tell you, my friends, cannot leave this table. I shall have your unbreakable oath on it, or I shall ask you to leave."

"Surely you jest!" Dame Delia said sharply.

"Dame Delia, I do not," he said calmly as he regarded her. "We have represented in this room three covens. Minerva as my proxy Dame of the Dumbledore coven supports whatever position I deem best. What I have to say is too important to leave to chance or wagging tongues. So, shall I have your oath?"

"You shall have mine," Dame Augusta said.

Delia stood. "You shan't have mine. It is unbecoming for a wizard to demand such a thing from the Dame of a Coven. However, I have faith in Delbert and Dame Augusta. If what they hear convinces them to vote in a certain way, then I shall support them." With that, she stood and walked away.

Delbert looked at her with narrow eyes before turning his attention back to Dumbledore. "Are you really going to require the oath, or was that just to get her to leave?"

"Yes," Dumbledore said with a bright smile.

After the unbreakable oaths were made and sealed, Dumbledore described the events of Harry's first year, including how Dumbledore's last direct descendent gave her life to save Harry. "While I know rumours abound, the spirit very specifically identified itself as being Voldemort," Dumbledore said, "which is why I increased the spiritual intent wards on the castle and alerted the castle ghosts to beware. While the ghosts might frighten students, they have traditionally acted as guardians against fell spirits. This one slipped past them because of its possession of a living host."

"So the rumours were true. If that's the case…" Amelia began. "Elders, Dames, we cannot allow my budget to be cut anymore! I don't even have the budget to provide full salary for the people I already have. My senior staff and I haven't had a raise in ten years and I have Aurors receiving three quarters pay voluntarily just to maintain the basic coverage to meet our responsibility."

"Then perhaps, Amelia," Dumbledore said, "it is time to make your voice heard."

Amelia drummed one finger along the table.

"The Weasley Coven would be honoured to have you, Amelia," Arthur said, "but there would be a conflict of interest having my boss be under my wife as the Dame."

"Molly is a loving soul and blessed with fertility," Augusta said, "but she is far, far too young for her position. Adeena, bless her soul, had a much better head on her shoulders."

"And yet our coven includes the entire Prewitt clan," Arthur said, miffed.

"Be that as it may," Amelia said, "Arthur is right that I cannot allow a conflict of interest. Honestly I was considering joining the Griffins until I spoke to my niece. Fortunately the Obliviator was very precise and only took the prophecy and what followed."

"Oh?" Dumbledore said.

"She said Harry suggested I would be better served with the Croaker Coven, at least for the foreseeable future."

"I wonder why?" Delbert said.

"Because your wife, Elder Griffin, has been known to act in ways that do not align with your coven's stated position," Dumbledore said bluntly.

"Don't have to tell me, I've been married to the woman for over a century."

Arthur snorted, as did Croaker. "It would be our great honour and pleasure to welcome the last Bones into the Croaker Coven," Dame Augusta said. "I'll post the Banns in the morning if you give your oath tonight, and by this time tomorrow we'll gather the light, progressive and traditionalist block dames for a policy Sabbat. I believe Aahuti Patil might even align the Immigrant Block for this vote, if we play our wands right."

"You'll have my oath before we leave," Amelia said, "and my gratitude now. Thank you, Dame Augusta."

"Indeed, thank you all," Dumbledore said. "It was my deepest, most profound desire for the threat of Voldemort to be done with, but it appears it is just beginning anew. Know that I will continue to safeguard the children with all my magic and my life. And if we can block this budget cut, maybe some Aurors as well."

"Magic let it be," Arthur Weasley swore. "I haven't had a pay raise in a decade either, and I've been putting seven kids through Hogwarts!"

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

Harry was walking out of Flourish and Blotts at Neville's side when the two ran into a gaggle of witches walking in—literally. Harry's load of books spilled to the pavestones, while Neville tripped.

"Oh no!" the girl in the lead said. "I'm so sorry, are…Harry?

Harry looked up and saw a mane of bushy chestnut hair and two bright, shining brown eyes. "Hello, Hermione," he said, before gathering up the rest of his books and placing them in his satchel. "How has your summer been?"

"Good, really good," she said. She smiled at Neville. "And you too?"

"Good," Neville said, smiling. "We've had Harry over the last two weeks. It was fun."

"That's good. You remember my roommate Deana, and Justine Finch-Fletchley from orientation. And this is Colleen Creevey. You probably don't know her since she's going to be starting her second year."

Justine smiled shyly. She was two inches inch taller than he or Hermione. Colleen was an ephemeral little girl who barely came up to Hermione's shoulders and had an almost elfin look to her narrow face. She gazed up at Harry with such adoration he shuddered. "Well, er, what optional classes are you taking this year?" he asked Hermione.

"I wanted to take them all, but Professor McGonagall said I had to choose, so I picked Arithmancy and Care of Magical Creatures."

"I'll be taking Arithmancy," Neville said. "And Care as well. Professor Kettleburn is considered the world authority on hippogriffs and other large magical fauna."

"I read that too!" Hermione gushed.

"What about you, Harry?" Justine asked. Beside her, Colleen merely nodded.

"Er, I was going to take Care and Arithmancy too, but someone changed my schedule." He grimaced. "I was placed into Divination."

"Why in Morgana's name would someone change your schedule?" Hermione asked.

"I don't know," Harry said. "Just had a note that I would be better served in Divination."

"It seems a rather woolly subject, I've been told," Hermione said. "And I've heard awful things about Trelawney. Well, you'll have to tell me how it goes."

"Have you purchased your pre-potions kits yet?" Deanna asked.

"Not yet," Neville said.

"Oh, we haven't either!" Hermione said. "Why don't we walk together? Our parents are out in London, so we have plenty of time."

"Well, you see…" Harry began, immediately caught up in visions of girls sucking out his magic.

He paused when Hermione gently touched his hand, just for a moment. There was that immediate shock of contact he felt the first time, but it lasted only a second. "Harry," she said, "I'm not interested in poaching. They just kept us separated for the last two years, and it feels as if they kept us from being friends. I just want to get that back. That's all, I promise."

"Besides, Neville will protect you," Justine said with a laugh.

"But who will protect me?" Neville asked.

"I will!" Colleen piped up, speaking for the first time.

"Fine, let's go," Harry relented with a sigh. They finished their shopping lists together, until the girls finally came back to the books they were on their way to buy when they ran into Harry and Neville. Seeing an inevitable parting of the ways, Hermione said, "Thank you walking with us."

"It was our pleasure," Neville said with a debonair tone mangled only by his cracking, man-boy voice.

The girls giggled together before ducking into the store. As the two boys headed back to the Leaky Cauldron to take the Floo home, Neville said "She talks a lot."

"Yeah, she does."

"Think she's cute?"

"I guess," Harry said. "But I think I'd get tired trying to keep up with her all the time."

Neville laughed as they walked out of Diagon Alley.

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

_You owe a debt._

The filthy man sat in a dank cell furnished with a toilet and lice-ridden cot, and nothing else. He himself curled in the corner furthest from the heavy wood and metal door, his arms wrapped around his head. "Shut up," he hissed.

_You owe me. You were supposed to save me, die for me._

"I said shut up!" the man screamed before pounding his head against the hard stone behind him.

"You shut up, Black!" a guard called from outside the door. "You have company."

The door opened revealing the flickering light of a smokeless ever-burning torch, and a figure silhouetted against the light. The person stepped inside, and in so doing allowed enough light on their face for him to see who it was.

"What do you want?" he snarled.

Elezeta Malfoy neé Lestrange smiled as if she were meeting a beloved friend. "Such accommodations," she said. "And to think you could be a sitting Elder right now. Your proxy for the Black Coven just doesn't have your flair."

"What do you want, Ele?" he said again.

She took a step closer and squatted down until she was a foot from his face. "You owe a debt," she said softly, echoing the voice in his head. "We held a séance and the Master has spoken to us. You owe a debt, Black. Discharge your debt, and your brother will live."

Sirius Black stared long and hard at the woman. "You're lying, Reggie is dead."

"He is alive," she said. "Smuggled to the continent when Master fell, by the French branch of the family. He is not well, but he lives. The agreement still abides, even in our Master's state. Discharge your debt, and your brother will be freed to take his place as the head of the family."

"A little late for that now," he said.

"The guard is mine," Elezeta said. "How else do you think I am able to keep dear brother Rodolphus and your cousin Bellatrix fed? You are on your own beyond the door, but you are a resourceful man, aren't you?"

"I hate you, you whorish cow," Sirius growled.

"I'm sure you do," she giggled. "Remember your debt, Sirius."

She stood, straightened her skirt, and walked imperiously out of the cell. The door swung closed, but did not latch.

_You owe me._

"Shut up!" Sirius screamed. Suddenly his body rippled and changed into that of a huge black dog. With a growl and a long tongue hanging out, he charged the door, which banged open, and ran for his life.

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**Author's Note**: Very special thanks as always to Teufel1987, JR and Miles for beta reading.


	19. The Inner Eye

A/N: At last, our first introduction to Divination and Sybil Trelawney in this vastly AU take of Harry Potter. I won't lie-I really like how my Trelawney turned out. Hopefully it will amuse and entertain you as well. As always, responses to previous chap reviews are in my forums.

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**Chapter Nineteen: The Inner Eye**

Third year was different in many ways from Harry's first two years of school at Hogwarts. To start with, they had two new classes—Defence Against the Dark Arts and Introduction to Potions. In addition, their Wizard Studies and Muggle Studies classes were vastly reduced—Wizard Studies now only met three hours a week, and Muggle studies only ten hours, which opened up the schedule for the two optional classes.

It was still disheartening to have eight solid hours of classes each day, but Harry also realized that he would be bored without them. With the help of the Ordering potion from first year and the sheer exhilaration of learning magic, he rarely felt too put out by the long days. History was boring, of course, but then again Cuthbert Binns was almost three hundred years old and looked more like a ghost than some ghosts he had seen, but all the other professors managed to keep class interesting and challenging.

For all the changes, though, many things also stayed the same. Transfiguration was still a two hour course on Tuesdays and Thursdays like always, while Charms had two hours on Monday and Wednesday, with one final hour on Friday. The classes were roughly at the same time, in the same location, with the same teachers.

But the novelty of the new classes started immediately when they walked into the Defence classroom for the very first time, where they were met by Professor Remus Lupin yawning like crazy.

"Good morning, class," he said. "Please come in and have seat while I continue to wake myself up."

The thirteen boys of Third Year took their seats, watching Lupin expectantly. When everyone was settled, Lupin flicked his wand and the door closed. "Welcome to Defence Against the Dark Arts," he began. "Despite the name of the class, we are not here simply to learn counters to dark magic. Rather, this class is in response to a central reality of life for all witches and wizards—magic is dangerous. From the first time an Etruscan wizard priest managed to summon lighting only to die when it struck him, to the ancient Zoroastrian mages who dabbled with elixirs to grant immortality, only to create an abundance of magical creatures such as vampires, werewolves, giants, Veela and other magical human hybrids, people have been doing extraordinarily stupid things with magic. I have no doubt that time has not changed any of that by one wit."

The boys laughed uneasily. _Was the professor calling them stupid?_

"Now, let's get down to specifics, shall we?" Lupin stood and pointed his wand at a large, free-standing blackboard. Chalk began to write, dictating his words. "For this year, we shall concentrate on magical creatures and how to defend against them. For those taking Care of Magical Creatures, these subjects mesh well together."

The chalk wrote that down, word for word.

"In fourth year, we shall study the various sentient magical beings and how to defend against them. For instance, despite heavy regulations, if a vampire ever catches you alone in a dark alley, she will undoubtedly attempt to eat you, eventually anyway. Vampires do like to play with their food."

"What about Werewolves?" Malfoy asked, smirking.

"A good question," Lupin said. "Class, would you classify Werewolf as a sentient creature, or a magical creature?"

It was Nott who raised his hand. "Transformed werewolves are just dumb beasts."

Harry tried to understand why Lupin's magic flared in irritation despite his calm face. "To a certain extent, that is true. In the transformed state Werewolves are not conscious of their humanity, and so a transformed Werewolf is considered a magical creature, rather than a sentient one, which is why we will cover Werewolves this year.

"Now, to continue, in fifth year we will begin the basic study of magical defence against other witches and wizards. Shielding and stealth magic will be the primary focus. Then, for those who pass their OWLS and choose to continue, we will focus on offensive magic for the NEWTs years. Any questions?"

Lupin proved to be an effective lecturer, interspersing anecdotes with the lesson plans that often had the whole class laughing. After class ended, he asked Harry to stay behind. When the others were gone, walking toward the greenhouses and Herbology, Lupin regarded Harry thoughtfully for a moment.

"Mr Potter, do you read the paper?"

"No sir, not really."

With a nod, Lupin reached into his robes and removed a folded up paper. He placed it on his desk so that Harry could see the headline: SIRIUS BLACK ESCAPES! Below the headline was a picture of a gaunt man with broken eyes and long, scraggly dark hair, with a thin beard to add to his sinister appearance.

Harry felt his heart thud hard in his chest. "Isn't he the man…?"

"Who betrayed your parents? Yes, yes he is. He was also once our best friend."

Harry blinked. "What?"

"Sirius, James, Peter Pettigrew and I used dorm together here at Hogwarts. We had a fifth roommate named Andrew Blassingham. Bless his soul, Andrew was poached his fourth year by a staunch, dark-aligned traditionalist who forced him to leave school and marry, seeking NEWT and OWL studies independently. It was quite the scandal since the Ministry discourages bonding with wizards under age fifteen.

"Anyway, this made the rest of us form a pact to protect the other from the older witches. We all vowed to finish Hogwarts whole, intact and single. Of course, that only worked until Lily snagged James in Sixth Year."

"They got married their sixth year?" Harry asked, eyes bulging.

"No," Lupin said, smiling at the memory. "Lily's parents were Muggles, and refused to allow her to marry at sixteen despite James's parents telling them it was only proper. Bonds are for life, after all, whether voluntary or incidental. Still, because of the bond they were allowed to live together their seventh year as Head Boy and Head Girl, and any trouble James had with his parents over bonding with a Muggleborn was offset by the fact that she was an Aether, and even more so with the publication of her book. You've read it, correct?"

Harry nodded. "She's a good writer.'

"She was. And she was normally a good judge of character, so when she asked me to be the secret keeper when they went into hiding, I thought that would be the end of it. However, there were some extenuating circumstances with my health that made James suspect me, and so he chose Sirius instead. "

"You were my parent's friend, though?"

"I was."

Harry's lips drew into a straight line. "Why didn't I ever know about you, then, before this summer?"

"Because Albus asked me to stay away," Lupin said sadly. "Harry, I can't stress enough how powerful the wards are around your Aunt's home, wards that are based on your mother's act before she died. But they aren't perfect, and if Voldemort's followers saw a friend of your parents hanging around, they would deduce where you were, and snatch you up on your way to school. I stayed away to protect you."

"An easy way to protect," Harry said bitterly. "Where was your protection when…? Never mind." He turned to leave when Remus stopped him.

"Harry, I can't put the past right, I know that, and I shan't try. But I can help you in the future, especially because Sirius is a danger to you. He knows this school better than anyone, and we believe he is coming here to finish what he started. He's coming for you."

"Let him," Harry fairly snarled before he turned and walked out.

"Well," Lupin said when the boy was gone, "that didn't go well."

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

Harry walked up the tower to Divination the next morning with a great feeling of trepidation. As far as he could see, he was the only boy in the class of fourteen people, and it was making his stomach clench at the idea of being without his mates around so many staring, whispering girls.

Worse yet, the room did not have individual desks, but was rather lined with bistro tables with two chairs each, forcing everyone to pair up. He nervously took a seat next at the table with Justine Finch-Fletchley, while smiled at him. "First mixed class and you are the only boy," she said with a dry smile and a touch of disappointment in her voice.

"Yeah, sorry 'bout that. I don't think this class has a good reputation among the boys."

"That's too bad," Lavender Brown said from the table behind him she shared with Parvati Patil. "Sybil Trelawney is a confirmed, licensed seer and oracle, you know!"

"I am also an Aether, Mr Potter," a disembodied voice chimed through the class. "And I've been warned about you. Please raise your defences as I have no desire to be bonded to a thirteen-year-old."

Harry snapped his Occlumency barriers in place just as Trelawney stepped out from around a curtain. She had limp, dirty blonde hair hanging to her shoulders and huge, almost bulbous glasses that made her brown eyes look amphibian. Her professor robes were lined with odd trinkets and pieces of metal and string.

"Welcome to Divination," she said in a tremulous voice. Harry could smell alcohol coming from her, but more over he could see that same strange cloud of magic around her head, albeit it a much less dense cloud that what he saw briefly around Healer Carlisle. With his Occlumency up at full strength, he felt little more than a sense of dizziness.

"I am Sybil Trelawney, granddaughter of the great Seer Cassandra Trelawney. In this class I will teach you the different forms of divination available to you, even arithmantic forms, which is why this class is offered as an alternative to Arithmancy, since we do have some similarities in our fields of study."

She sat down on a stool in front of them, visibly swaying. In the back of the room, Gregoria Goyle, sitting at a table with Millicent Bulstrode, raised her thick, meaty hand. "Professor, are you drunk?"

"By Morgana I hope so!" Trelawney said with sudden fervour. "Or else that was a wasted four knuts a bottle! And Merlin's balls, you're ugly. Are you even a girl?"

The whole class stared in shock. Gegoria snapped back, "More woman than you are, you flat-chested harridan."

"You're more woman than Skadi with such big baps as those," Trelawney said. She sipped from her suspicious-smelling tea.

Trelawney leaned forward with a lopsided smile. "So, every year I get the same questions, so let me tell you a secret about the future, children. Real divination hurts like bloody hell. The last true prophecy I delivered left me in the hospital wing for two days. The gods take no pity on those they choose to speak through—their power is cruel and painful. While some of the means that I teach can be used by anyone, there is always a price to be paid, usually in the form of small sacrifices. But for those of us cursed with the vision, or with being an oracle, the price is paid with pain and blood."

Harry, thinking of his summer, began to shake when she turned her magnified eyes and stared at Harry. "And it is a high price indeed," she said, speaking directly to him. She broke the spell and straightened. "Knowledge of the future is terribly expensive. Because of the fact I actually teach you and have to perform these magics so often…well, the Headmaster is fully aware of how I self-medicate. Some oracles use potions, some use firewhiskey. I prefer Muggle sherry, myself. No worries, though, I am quite a high functioning alcoholic if I say so myself."

Hesitantly, Harry raised his hand. "Professor, do all oracles have to…medicate?"

"Only those forced by magic or circumstances to employ their gifts often," she said, for the first time smiling sadly at him. "My counterparts in Beauxbatons and Durmstrang are both drunkards as well, while Salem's Witches Institute has three teachers for divination to divide up their exposure, and a productive marijuana farm on their grounds. There is hope, at least, I suppose."

She slid off her stool and walked to a chalk board. Where Lupin cast a spell, Trelawney wrote with an unsteady hand. "In your book, you will find a list of all one hundred and sixty three accepted forms of divination, ranging from the well-known, such as Arithmancy, to the obscure, such as Zoomancy, which is literally using the motions and behaviour of animals to gauge future events. This class is not designed to teach you to be a seer, an oracle or a prophet. It is simply to teach out how these different forms of divination work."

The hour passed surprisingly quickly. Trelawney was not a nice woman; her comments ranged from snide to downright hateful, and yet at the same time she was bitingly funny when she was talking about the nature of seers. "Matilda of Malaga, for instance, regularly had visions about what her brother would have for dinner, nearly every night, while her daughter Maria had visions of her mother's rather adventurous love life in the brothels. There is nothing that says prophecy is important or earth shattering. Divination is literally expressions of probability through magic. For instance, this morning I saw that one of you would bring a copy of my last book. Who was it?"

Lavender raised her hand, eyes wide. "I was hoping you would sign it," she confessed.

"After class dear," Trelawney said with a dismissive wave of her heavily bejewelled hand. "I saw that in my tea leaves this morning. In case you weren't paying attention, that is Tasseomancy—divination using tea leaves. I would have also accepted Tasseographcy or Kypomancy. The point being—this knowledge was not profound in any way, and in fact since it happens nearly every year, could have been obtained through common sense. Instead, I saw it in my tea leaves and paid for this precious knowledge with a headache. I cannot promise you any soul-shaking revelations in the class. But it can be interesting."

Harry waited the whole class for her to send him a note or otherwise ask him to stay, but she didn't. In fact, as soon as class was over she was out of the door, faster in fact than any of the students.

"So, Harry," Lavender said, smiling widely. "Want to walk me to Transfiguration?"

Harry stared blankly at her, trying to figure out why she would be going to Transfiguration before lunch, until he remembered boys and girls had a different schedule. "Oh, right. Er, actually, can't do that. Have to get to history, you know. Er, bye."

"Slag," he heard Parvati say as he almost ran out of the room himself.

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

"I'm sorry, Mr Potter, but the Ministry feels that you may be in danger from Sirius Black," Professor McGonagall said. "No, I'm afraid you can't go to Hogsmeade this weekend."

Harry pursed his lips angrily, but didn't say anything. Beside him, Ron and Neville looked as if their souls had been crushed, and he knew it was because they thought they would have to stay with him. "Er, guys, would you mind maybe picking me up some sugar quills?" He pulled out a few Knuts from his pocket.

"Are you sure, Harry?" Neville asked.

"Yeah, it'll be okay, go on."

Both relieved and guilty about feeling relieved, the two thanked him, promised him treats, and moved on. Seamus, Harry noted, tagged along with Lee Jordan and the Weasley twins.

With a bitter sigh, Harry separated from the group and instead made his way slowly to Hagrid's hut. It was a bright, chilly day, and was just too damned beautiful to waste in the castle. Given how nice a day it was, he wasn't surprised to see Hagrid out working in the pumpkin patch, bare-chested in the cool air.

Hagrid's hut was well away from the path leading to Hogsmeade, and so he obviously was not expecting company. Otherwise, he probably would have covered up a little, given how incredibly hairy his otherwise pale torso was. He picked up a pumpkin easily as large as a golf cart and placed it on a thestral-drawn wagon without any visible show of effort.

"Hello, Hagrid," Harry called so as not to startle his large, somewhat slow friend.

Hagrid stood and looked around in confusion, facing the wrong way. "Behind you!" Harry called.

Hagrid turned and his whole face lit up with a smile. "Why it's 'ittle 'Arry! What're yer doing here? Shouldn't yer be at Hogsmeade with all 'dem pretty witches and summat?"

"They wouldn't let me go," Harry said dejectedly. "Said I was in danger because of Sirius Black."

"Oi, Black, bad business that were. Bad business. Well, yer can always help me feed Montrose there." He nodded to the black, reptilian beast hooked to the wagon.

With a nod Harry walked over to the horse-shaped, skeletal thestral and ran a hand along its flanks. The thestral, and in fact all the magical creatures he'd seen so far in Care of Magical Creatures, had a certain similarity with Hagrid himself. All of them were infused with magic, but not in a core like human wizards had. Hagrid had a core, of course, but it was tiny in comparison to a wizard, especially when taking into account his size. However, he had magic just like the thestral, it was simply diffused throughout his body and skin.

In the thestral's case, the magic coated its hide and wings, giving it an oddly soothing, deep blue glow. "Hello, girl," he whispered, running his hands down its neck. The beast leaned into his touch, and he could feel its magic reacting to his. It wasn't a bond or link, simply a gentle recognition.

After a moment he saw Hagrid staring at him with his small, dark eyes. "Blimey," he said, "t'ain't never seen her take to a wizard so fast."

"She's beautiful."

"That she is, lad," Hagrid said, before beaming brightly. "Wanna feed 'er then?" He reached down and lifted a bucket of raw, bloody meat.

Montrose nickered, but it didn't sound like a horse. Rather, it was a high-pitched, almost human like cry, like a baby. However, Harry understood her easily enough—she was greeting him as an equal, and letting him know that she was hungry. Smiling, Harry grabbed a piece of meat the size of his foot and tossed it to the Thestral, somehow knowing not to hand it to the creature directly.

The thestral's similarity to a horse ended when the whole front half of its head split into four even quarters lined with sharp, dagger-like teeth and a long, snake-like tongue and snatched the meat right out of the air. "Thestral 'r carrion eaters, yer see," Hagrid explained. "They like to eat dead giants, dragons, kneazles, what 'ave yer. Been known to eat the occasional dead witch 'r wizard too. Bad _r'_putation and all, but right gentle creatures they 'er."

Sometimes it was hard to follow Hagrid. Not only did he have a thick accent, he sometimes tripped over his words. "Big tongue, see," he said when Harry asked about it the previous year. He then stuck out a tongue that hung down almost to the tip of his beard.

Still, Harry had grown to understand the gentle man easily enough. "So what is this meat?"

"Dragon," Hagrid said. "Dragon meat don't taste no good to wizards, so when an old buck or dame dies, they 'arvest it fer potions and such, and send the meat to magic preserves. One dragon can feed all the thestral preserves in the kingdom fer a month."

"What is this?" a high-pitched voice demanded.

Harry, his hands still dripping with dragon's blood, closed his eyes and tried his best to summon patience before he turned to see Draco Malfoy with Nott and Crab standing by his side. "I thought you were a pitiful wizard before, Potter, but slumming with mongrels? Really?"

Nott barked laughter. "Is _It_ teaching you how to bugger the beasties, Potter?"

Harry waited for Hagrid to say something; anything. Instead, the giant man hunched over to make himself seem smaller while casting his beady eyes about in fear.

"I mean, for Merlin's sake look at the beast," Malfoy said, looking at Hagrid with contempt. "Look at all that disgusting hair. And how does a half-giant even exist? How could any true wizard want to rut with a giantess?"

"How _could_ a wizard rut with a giantess?" Nott asked. "And enlarging charm, maybe?"

"And the smell," Malfoy continued. "If Hagrid is bad, imagine what his mum must smell like."

"Shut it, Malfoy," Harry said, rising at last to what he knew was bait. "Leave Hagrid alone. He hasn't done anything to you."

"He exists," Draco said, his laugh dropping down to a low sneer. "His kind are disgusting—mongrel half-breeds. His father was executed for crimes against magic—he said he would rather live with the giants than take a witch to wife. Disgusting abomination. His mongrel offspring should have been killed at…"

Harry's stinging hex hit Malfoy right in the face, causing his features to swell. "That's done it!" Nott said. He and Crabbe whipped out their wands and started casting hexes as well. Harry ducked Crabbe's poorly aimed one, but Nott's hit his arm and immediately caused it to throb with pain.

That slowed him down enough for Crabbe to land his stinger to Harry's stomach, followed by as second from Nott. His whole body started to throb with pain. Malfoy picked himself up off the ground and flicked his wand—because of his swollen face Harry couldn't quite make out the incantation, but he saw clearly the massive black snake that shot out of his wand and startled hurtling toward Harry.

"That's not right!" Hagrid roared. "Bad business, that!" He started rumbling forward, but was too far away to stop the fast moving snake.

Shaking from the stinging hexes, Harry said, "Stop!" voicing it as an unlikely prayer.

Surprisingly, the snake came to a stop. _Why should I? Master wishes me to bite you. I feel him._

Blinking in shock, Harry said, "Your master is a bad man. He hurts others for no reason. If you must bite someone, bite him and his friends!"

_Very well,_ the snake said, before turning and slithering quickly toward the three staring, gaping Slytherins. As the snake grew closer, Draco cried like a five year old girl and turned to lead the way, only to run right into Remus Lupin.

"Professor, Potter's magicked a snake on us with Parseltongue!" Nott said in a rush.

"A snake Mr Malfoy conjured," Lupin said coolly. Over their heads, he flicked his wand and easily banished the serpent. "Now, I understand why Harry was not at Hogsmeade, what I don't understand is what you three are doing here."

"None of your business, mongrel," Draco said, though with his swollen face it came out as "_Oon of ooor buzzesss, ongrl_".

Fortunately Professor Lupin understood easily enough. "I see. Well then, for fighting three on one, I deduct twenty house points for each of you, including you, Mr Potter. However, given than there was only one Gryffindor, and three Slytherins—well, I'm sure even you can do simple addition, Mr Malfoy. That will also be a week's detention starting tonight for all of you. You three can serve with Professor Snape. Get to the castle, now."

Glaring through his swollen features, Malfoy walked angrily back to the castle.

"Alright there, Hagrid?"

"Er, okay, 'suppose, 'Fessor," Hagrid said.

"All right?" Harry said, his anger at Malfoy searching for another target. "How could you just stand there and let them talk to you like that, Hagrid?"

"Oh, they didn't mean nuthin' by it," the half-giant said in a small voice.

"But they did, Hagrid, and it was awful. You should have done something!"

"Like what, Harry?" Professor Lupin demanded sharply. "What could Hagrid have done? He's not a professor so he can't assign points or detentions. He could not physically try to force Mr Malfoy to do anything because as a half-giant he is denied any civil rights under our law and he cannot perform wand magic. He is classified as a magical sentient, Harry, not a wizard."

Harry sputtered. "But…he's a person!"

"He is," Lupin agreed. "And he deserves to be treated better. He is my friend too."

Hagrid blushed from his belly-button up and kicked a rock as large as man's head. "Er, Gosh, 'Fessor. Yer m' friend too."

Lupin smiled, but there was sadness in the expression. "Harry, if Hagrid had done anything, Draco's father would have had him detained and killed like an animal—no trial, no appeal. Hagrid doing nothing was the smartest thing he could do, and you rising to Draco's taunts was the least smart thing you could do. He followed you out here to get a rise out of the two of you. And the half-giant with a third your IQ figured that out faster than you."

"Are you saying Hagrid is dumb?" Harry said, eyes bulging in shock.

"Dumber 'n a post!" Hagrid said with a sudden smile, slapping his chest. "And twice as hard!"

"Hagrid makes the most of what he has, and what he is," Lupin explained. "I and my friends visited him often, and I do still come down for tea, which is why I saw you being followed. He is the kindest person I have ever met. I understand you wanting to defend him, but I assure you he was in no danger."

"They could have hurt him with magic!"

Without warning Lupin shot a powerful stinging hex at Hagrid. Harry watched as the purple magic struck the reddish-brown magic in Hagrid's skin and just slid off it, dissipating into the air. "Didn't even feel it!" Hagrid said proudly.

"Oh." Harry's shoulders slumped. "Right."

"No worries, lad!" Hagrid said. "'Ow bout we have a cuppa! That'll make things right!"

"Sounds splendid," Remus said. Then he looked at the slumping-shouldered third-year. "Coming, Harry?"

"Yeah, sure," Harry said sullenly.

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**Author's Note**: Very special thanks as always to Teufel1987, JR and Miles for beta reading.


	20. Dementors Suck

A/N: Chap 19 Review Responses are in my forums like normal.

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**Chapter Twenty: Dementors Suck**

Detention with Professor Lupin was not like the handful of other detentions Harry had received in his few years at Hogwarts. Instead of writing lines or cleaning, Lupin drilled him—hard.

"So," Lupin said as he ordered Harry up against the wall of his classroom that evening, "you got your arse handed to you today."

"There were three of them!" Harry whined.

"And yet you started the fight," Lupin pointed out reasonably.

"They were picking on Hagrid!" Harry almost yelled now, once more becoming upset.

"And yet, again, Hagrid wasn't upset," Lupin said. "You were. I've heard a great deal that you were an Occlumens. That you learned with the help of Lily's book. When she grew angry, or had any other strong emotion, she reinforced her Occlumency shield to control the emotion. It was a remarkable feat, I'll grant, but I was rather under the impression that you knew how to do that."

"I'm still learning," Harry muttered. Louder, he added: "And Hagrid's been conditioned to take it. That doesn't make it right."

Surprisingly, Remus smiled. "No, Harry, it doesn't. But if that's a battle you wish to fight, you're going to be going against the grain, and will always be outnumbered. If you're going to survive, then you need to learn how to take on three opponents at once. After all, your father did it regularly."

That brought Harry up short. "What do you mean?"

"I mean when Malfoy's father Lucius was fifteen, he did the same exact thing as his son. He sought Hagrid out and tried to get a rise out of him, in the hopes that in doing so he could give _his_ father the excuse he wanted to kill the poor man. And his father did it before him. It is a tradition among the dark families to try and bait and kill Hagrid, and yet he's still here."

"But what about my father…"

"Well, you see, James just happened to be there, and like you, he took offence on his friend's behalf, and started a fight against Lucius, Yaxley and Crabbe Sr."

"Did he win?" Harry asked eyes bright.

"Got his arse handed to him worse than you did," Lupin said, laughing. "He was a third year, like you, but they were two years older each. So James trained like mad, and the next year when Lucius and his gang came back, he put all three on the ground. Served a detention for half a year and lost us the House Cup, but I swear Professor McGonagall had never been more proud."

Lupin leaned forward and conspiratorially said, "Remember your first season of Quidditch?"

"Yeah?"

"I watched every game. Wasn't allowed to talk to you, of course, but I watched. You guys lost all the games in your first round, but came back to win the second round, and the cup. You're going to lose battles, Harry, it's the wars you can't afford to lose. So, get ready."

"Why are you helping me?" Harry demanded abruptly.

Lupin's calm smile turned wistful. "I wasn't allowed to earlier, when you needed me most. I'm helping you now because I can. It's what your mum wanted."

His hour of detention dissolved into a flurry of painful stingers, ducking, running and shooting back. Despite his best effort, he didn't land a single stunner on Remus, while the Professor had to remove an even dozen after just the first ten minutes. By the time it was done, Harry was soaked in perspiration and physically exhausted.

"Tomorrow, same time," Lupin said simply when they were done.

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

After Professor Lupin escorted Harry back to Gryffindor Tower, Harry stepped inside the door to a loud, raucous discussion that died so fast even the echo was gone in a heartbeat. All the glowing, intense eyes of every witch and wizard from fourth year up turned and stared intently at him. The fires in their magic core seemed to blur and blend with common intent, each influencing the other by their very presence.

Instinctively, Harry fell back on the time-honoured defence of all children and teens across the world. "I didn't do it!" he blurted.

The others stared at him quizzically, and Harry wished with all his might that Neville was there. While third years did have Common Room rights, their curfew to return to their room was an hour earlier than the others, and sixth and seventh years had two hours more than fourth and fifth years.

He saw the magical currents within his housemates hiccup—it was the best way to describe the sudden interruption of the flow of tension and distrust he saw. That hiccup was Oliver Wood, seventh year Prefect and Quidditch Captain. There was no Head Boy again, but Wood served that role for the seventh year Gryffindors.

"What didn't you do?" Wood asked, smirking.

"Er, whatever it is that has all of you so upset," Harry said quickly.

"Is it true, Potter?" Angelina asked from beside Fred Weasley. Georgina lounged on a chair nearby next to Lee. "Did you speak to a snake?"

"Well, Draco _was_ speaking to me, seemed kind of rude not to talk back," Harry said, still confused.

"No, Harry," Wood said. "Not a Slytherin, but an actual, slithering snake. Malfoy ran back to the castle and said you were a Parselmouth and ordered a snake to attack him."

Harry blinked in surprise. "Well, I suppose, but he's the one that conjured the bloody thing in the first place!"

The tension ratcheted back up; even Wood frowned. "Harry, Parselmouths have a really bad history. The last well-known one was You-Know-Who. They're almost all dark wizards. Why didn't you tell me?"

Frightened by the tension in the room, Harry said quickly, "How was I supposed to know? I was Muggle-raised. I thought all Witch-born could talk to animals. And why is it just snakes that are bad? Am I evil because I can talk to Kneazles or Thestrals as well? Are you going to lynch me because I talk to my owl and I can understand when she talks back?"

Once more the tension hiccupped. The seventh year female prefect (Ravenclaw held the Head Girl position this year) stepped forward with wide eyes. "Potter, are you telling me you can talk to other animals?"

"Well, sure. Magic ones, anyway. I used to talk to kneazles and ravens as a kid in primary, though I just thought they were cats, and I suppose all ravens are a little magical. Like I said, I thought all Witch-born could do it! It's not my fault!"

Wood suddenly started chuckling. "Only you, Potter. You're like a magnet for strange!"

With his laugh, then currents of tension running through the Common Room broke up. "Go on up to your room, Harry," he said. "If Ron or Neville ask, just tell them you're a magical Omniglot, not a Parselmouth. Neville probably knows what that is, at least."

"Oh, okay." Feeling as if he'd just avoided the firing squad, Harry ducked his head and ran up the stairs as fast as he could.

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

Of course, that wasn't the end of it. That Monday, after a double charms class, Professor Flitwick asked Harry to stay. Because it was lunch, the diminutive professor even ordered lunch for the two of them.

"So, Mr Potter, current rumour is that rather than a Parselmouth, you are in fact an Omniglot."

"I haven't had a chance to even look up what that means, Professor," Harry said.

"It means literally 'All Tongues', which is a fancy way of saying that you appear to be able to speak to anything," Flitwick said.

"Was my mother one?" Harry asked.

"Not in the slightest, which is why this is so interesting!" Flitwick said. "I'm going to cast a simple charm on you that will measure your mental response to magical languages. It might be disconcerting, but I've been assured that it will not hurt."

He cast the spell, which looked like a deep, forest green. Almost instantly Harry heard whispers—hundreds of faint whispers. However, before the whispers grew too loud or uncomfortable, the spell ended.

Flitwick was beaming and hopping on the balls of his toes. "How very interesting!" he said. "You are indeed a magical polyglot, however it appears that talent is limited solely to magical languages, so technically you're not a true Omniglot. I dare say you will have quite the challenge learning other human languages. I'd stick to your Latin if I were you."

"Er, thank you, Professor," Harry said.

A moment later an elf appeared with a tray of delicious beef sandwiches with a thick bowl of horseradish. "I hope you don't mind, Mr Potter," Flitwick said. "I am part Goblin, and as a result my palate is more suited to strong flavours."

"That's fine, professor," Harry said quickly. He tried a little, and then downed his pumpkin juice to wash away the foul taste. "So, are there other magical Omniglots?"

"A fair few," Flitwick said. "Dirk Cresswell, the new head of the Goblin Liaison Office, is a true Omniglot. Would have to be to be able to speak Gobbledygook. I heard that the Scamander family are all as well, though they generally attend Beauxbatons in France despite being English. There was a rumour that Lycan Scamander, the head of the family, was banned from Hogwarts for killing a former headmaster in a duel. Quite the scandal."

"When was this?"

"Oh, late sixteen hundreds or so. Have to remember that wizards have long memories—comes with having long lives. Now, how are your classes coming?"

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

The first game against Slytherin marking Oliver Wood's last season as captain was the first in which Gryffindor started as the clear favourite.

That didn't make the game any easier. What made the game actually hard was Draco Malfoy as the new Seeker. Harry remembered talk during his second year of having Malfoy start, but the miracle win by Gryffindor the previous year convinced the old seeker to play through her NEWT year, not that it helped them.

With Malfoy, though, came new brooms purchased by an unnamed benefactor (unnamed only in the sense that Snape refused to admit Lucius Malfoy bought the team new brooms). Unfortunately for Harry, Draco Malfoy knew how to use those brooms.

What neither Malfoy nor his brooms could make up for, though, was three of the best, most cohesive chasers the school had seen in years. Angelina Johnson, Alicia Spinnet and Katie Bell were all but unstoppable, blowing through the Slytherin defence despite the Snakes' best efforts to foul them. Their efforts were enhanced by Harry's "raptor" offense, as Wood called it, where he would dive without warning to disrupt Slytherin passing routines.

Malfoy tried to emulate Harry, but despite his legitimate skill, lacked the experience to do so.

It was looking like a rout, when the air, which had been cold but not bitingly so, turned suddenly frigid. Harry slowed in his circle around the pitch as he noticed ice forming on his goggles despite the de-icing charms on them.

The other players on the field noticed the cold too, and play ground to a halt as the two teams sat upon their brooms, trying to determine the source of the cold and the creeping unease that came with it.

On the floor of the pitch, Harry saw a huge black dog suddenly shoot out from the stands to his right and run pell-mell across the pitch to the stands on the left almost directly under him. A second later, the dog was followed by an army of monsters.

There was no other way for Harry to describe what he saw. The creatures were draped in ragged black cloaks that he could see through, and flittered with their passage without actually disturbing the air. Inside, though…was blackness. Harry had never seen true black in magic before, not like these monsters. It was not a colour, so much as the complete absence of colour. It was a visible darkness that radiated out in an aura around each creature, and the cumulative effect of an army of them chilled the whole castle.

Distantly he heard screams as people in the stands tried to flee, and he saw white, brilliant flashes of magic that seemed to force the demons back, but all the centre of his concentration was on the monsters rushing toward him. One in particular seemed to be coming for him directly. Its black, featureless face pulling at his magic so painfully, he felt his stomach clench and tears coming to his eyes.

As it swooped down on him, he heard a woman's voice whispering to him, but he could not understand what it was she was saying. All he knew was that in the rush of cold pain and terror, he heard a wonderful, soothing voice of comfort before everything went dark.

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

"Dementors suck," Harry said when he woke that afternoon in the Hospital Wing. Beside his bed, Neville nodded agreement while Wood snorted. The captain was still in his Quidditch robes and sported a bruise on his jaw from the game.

"And they have terrible timing," Wood said. "Blasted things! We almost had it in the bag!"

Gryffindor lost the match by only ten points when an unopposed Malfoy caught the Snitch. "I'm sorry, Wood," Harry said sadly.

"Harry, remember first year," Wood said. "One game doesn't make the season. Malfoy might be a right bastard about it, but the rest of the school knows he won by default. Nor were you the only one. Katie was attacked too."

Harry sat up in alarm. "Is she…?"

"She's fine," Wood replied. "She's in the girl's wing. No, you were both lucky that Professor Lupin was able to cast a Patronus spell. I had a good feeling about that man, and after seeing him do that, I know why."

"What's a Patronus?" Neville asked.

Wood grinned. "Mastery-level spell, and a choke-point for Auror training, I've been told. It's the only known spell for controlling and driving off Dementors, and it's right bloody hard. My sisters both washed out of the Auror Academy because they couldn't master it."

The door opened and Professor Dumbledore strolled in. While his outward countenance was calm and collected, the vast magic inside his chest sparked with irritation. "Mr Potter, I trust your friends are not bothering you?"

"Not at all, sir," Harry said.

"Very good. Still, Mr Longbottom, Mr Wood, would you excuse us?"

"Of course," Wood said quickly, while Neville nodded nervously. The two boys scampered quickly out of the hospital wing. In their absence, Dumbledore conjured a thick cushioned chair by Harry's bed and sank into it with a sigh.

"An exciting day," the Headmaster said.

"Yes, sir."

Harry looked down at his hands, at his feet—anywhere but the ancient wizard's face. Though Dumbledore was not the oldest wizard he'd met—Binns had decades on the man—his was still so ancient he did not look human at all, and that made Harry feel distinctly uncomfortable. Finally, though, he could not help it and met the older man's gaze, his Occlumency barriers as strong as he could make them.

Suddenly, without any warning, he saw the headmaster falling from the Astronomy tower, his face serene and expectant.

The image was followed a moment later by a horrific pounding in his head. He bent over with pain, and when he straightened he found a phial and a handkerchief waiting for him in the old wizard's hand. "For your nose, it is bleeding," Dumbledore explained. "The potion is a headache potion. Professor Trelawney suggested I should have both on me when I visited the hospital wing. Of course, she told me this last night over dinner, but I've learned over the years to take her at her word. May I ask what you saw?"

Blinking back tears, Harry downed the phial before dabbing at his nose. The white cloth absorbed the blood, staining it bright red. A moment later, the red faded away leaving behind it unblemished white. Only then did he notice a thin sheen of magic running through the cloth—a dark purple magic that seemed to suck in everything. "Nice kerchief," he said.

"A gift from my last wife, who died some sixty years ago. Harry, what did you see?"

"How do you know I saw anything?" Harry asked belligerently.

"Harry, I understand you are not happy right now, but please do not let your anger lead you into thinking I or my professors are not intelligent. I know you had a vision, and I would like to know what you saw."

"I saw you," Harry snapped. He suddenly remembered Lupin's words and tried to couch his irritation behind his Occlumency barriers. He was surprised to find that it worked, at least a little. "I saw you falling from the Astronomy Tower. But you looked peaceful."

"Good," Dumbledore said. "Another Aether said I would fall from the tower, but the fall would not kill me."

"Maybe she meant the landing would," Harry said, a tad bitterly.

"Or perhaps I was dead before I fell," Dumbledore said lightly. "When you get to my age, Harry it does not matter. Death is not frightening to me, my boy. Rather, when my time comes I shall greet her like an old friend, and begin my next adventure."

"Death is a her?"

"Death is whatever we choose to make her," Dumbledore said. "She can either be a creature of terrifying visage, or a beautiful young man with golden curls and laughing blue eyes. However, my own mother believed in the Morrigan, the triple goddess of war, death and…well, domination. Not surprising considering our society really. My mother was a Muggleborn, and yet managed to poach a young pureblood. She required that he marry another Muggleborn rather than a pureblood, and by that means maintained her dominance of the family and became an important member of our coven at the time, though never a Dame herself. She always thought death was a woman—the Macha aspect of the Morrigan, in fact, since that face was often associated with domination over men."

Harry blinked. "That doesn't sound very nice, sir."

Dumbledore, momentarily lost in memory, blinked. "No, I suppose it was not. Most especially considering her sister wife had another boy—my brother Aberforth. Two boys was a feat, especially in those days. But regardless, our youths shape us."

"What shape did you want me in when you sent me to the Dursleys?" Harry said, surprising himself with his bitterness.

Dumbledore blinked, momentarily taken aback by his anger. "Was it really so bad at the Dursleys?" he said, somehow sensing the source of Harry's anger.

"Were you the one to place me there?"

"Yes, but only at your mother's direction," Dumbledore said simply. "Your mother left instructions on how to weave blood wards around you and your aunt. They were the most powerful wards I had ever seen, and I owed it to you both to do as she asked. She knew, Harry—somehow she knew she would not live."

The idea that his mother was behind the placement stole away much of his ardour. "What about my father? Did he want me going there?"

"No, your father wanted you to go to your Godfather, Sirius Black. Given Mr Black's role in their deaths and your abandonment, and the fact he was captured and sent to Azkaban, that didn't seem to be an ideal choice. You've been waiting a long time to ask that question, haven't you?"

Suddenly feeling shamed, Harry looked back down at his hands. "They hate me," he said.

"But have they ever harmed you?"

"No, not really. Aunt Petunia hit me in the head with a skillet once, and Uncle Vernon accidentally broke my arm, but otherwise I just got lots of spankings with a belt and not enough food."

Dumbledore nodded, while within his chest his magic sparked angrily again. "I am sorry for your difficulties, Harry, truly I am. You are not the first wizard raised by Muggles to experience hardship. However, those wards have already saved your life. In your first eleven years, no less than five wizards attempted to attack you—one I've been led to believe you even witnessed. We're still not sure how they located you, but nonetheless they tried. And not at your home, either. Two attempts were made at your school, another at your local park. However, because you called that place home and charged those wards, the protection followed you in a ten square mile area around that house. That is a feat of magic I could not have done without your mother's instructions and sacrifice. All five men died."

_That was news!_ "What about here, though, or Diagon Alley?"

"The protection is dependent on proximity to your aunt," Dumbledore explained. "And I'm sad to say there was probably a price to pay as well for your Aunt. She would not have been able to conceive a child with the weight of that ward anchored to her soul. It may be it even affected her personality."

"Mum wouldn't do something like that," Harry said fiercely.

Dumbledore looked at Harry intently. "How do you know, Harry?"

The question stumped him. Continuing, Dumbledore said, "It is normal for children to want to believe the best of their parents. I for one believe that your mother was an extraordinary, loving witch. But she was still a witch, caught within the expectations and needs of an imperfect society. I have absolutely no doubt she would put the needs of herself and her family above the needs and desires of her sister. Before you think too ill of her, though, remember that Lily knew her sister as well as you do, and knew what kind of person she was. Perhaps there was some spite in her instructions, or perhaps a sense of karmic justice. Regardless, she knew what she was doing. Whatever else could be said, Lily Potter was extraordinarily intelligent."

"You make her sound…"

"Like a human being," Dumbledore said lightly. "A complex woman with good qualities and bad, just like you. Just like myself. None of us are perfect, Harry, and for this at least I am grateful. Perfection, I think, would be terribly boring."

The old wizard stood with a grunt at the effort, his magic no longer sparking. "Also, Mr Potter, I wish to congratulate you for your unorthodox use of Occlumency during our discussion. It was something that your mother explored and perfected, and it is good to see you taking after her in this regard."

"Do you think I'm as smart as my mum?"

Dumbledore suddenly laughed. "Mr Potter, _I_ am not as smart as your mum, so don't feel too badly if you don't quite match up as well. However, there are many types of intelligence. You have a situational awareness and I daresay a mind for tactics that Lily most definitely lacked—that you get from your father. Now, if you will excuse me, I should get back to my duties. I'm sure Madam Pomfrey shall be excusing you shortly."

Harry watched the old wizard shamble away, his thoughts racing over the idea of his mother purposely hurting Aunt Petunia to keep him safe.

* * *

sp

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**Author's Note**: Very special thanks as always to Teufel1987, JR and Miles for beta reading.


	21. THE TALK

A/N: Chap 20 review responses are available in my forums. Now, WARNINGS: This chapter contains frank discussions of sex (as you might surmise from the title), and a fairly detailed depiction of masturbation. As well as a moritified, sickened Severus Snape having to do the talk with 13 boys. While this may not seem pertinent to the story, I promise you some of the facts in this chapter are very important going down the road.

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-One: THE TALK**

On the last Friday afternoon in November, Professor Snape walked into the Wizarding Studies class with his robe swirling behind him and a look of profound displeasure plastered across his pale, large-nosed face.

"Professor Snape," Professor Hooch said, standing as he entered. "Class, books away. Professor Snape is going to lead a discussion on a topic that I'm sure is close to your hearts and definitely to your heads." She snickered. "Professor, good luck."

"Go away, Professor," Snape said abruptly to his first wife.

Rather than take offence at his curt tone, Professor Hooch laughed gaily and almost skipped out of the room, snickering and laughing the whole time. The thirteen boys waited in wary silence as Snape flicked his wand to close the door. He then spun his wand about, its glowing tip dancing in a complex fashion and an even more complex incantation on his lips. Harry watched a wave of golden magic fly through the room. Occasionally it contacted something that popped with white magic before going dim again, until the whole room was covered in scintillating golden light.

"We may now speak privately, without fear of being monitored," Snape said. "I have been given the dubious honour of providing you with 'The Talk'."

Some of the boys groaned theatrically.

"I have been given this honour as I am the only currently married male professor in the castle," Snape continued. "Also, I was too slow to say no when it was brought up. We are having this talk because you are all thirteen to fourteen years old, and thus you are most likely old enough to have the urge to procreate. Or to use words your tiny little minds can understand—you're old enough physically to have sex. I'm here to tell you why that would be such a horrid and stupid idea."

Snape glared at them all for a moment before turning his attention to Draco. "Mr. Malfoy, please relate what happened to you on the fourth floor corridor two weeks ago."

Harry had never seen Malfoy blush, but the Slytherin did so now, looking intensely uncomfortable. "Marina Dasple propositioned me," he said. "And touched me."

A shivering wave of fascination and sympathy ran through the other boys. "She did indeed," Snape said. "For those of you who do not know, Marina Dasple is a Seventh Year Ravenclaw. Though technically a half-blood, she was Muggle-raised. This was her third attempt at poaching a younger wizard, and she was more overt about it this time, since unfortunately the odds for a witch of obtaining the position of first wife after graduating Hogwarts declines drastically. And I am sure every single one of you has experienced something similar."

Snape turned and flicked his wand at the blackboard. The word BONDS appeared. "We throw the word bond around quite easily in magical society. Do any of you dunderheads actually know what it means?"

Malfoy raised his hand; Snape merely nodded. "It is a linking of a witch and wizard's magic, binding them together as husband and wife."

"Right out of the textbook. That is what the Ministry wishes you to believe. While the faces of the Ministry may be men, I assure you they are taking direction from their Covens. Have bonds always existed?"

Michael Corner in Ravenclaw raised his hand. At Snape's nod he said, "I read a book that speculated bonds have been around for as long as magic itself, but the way they are now has only existed for the past fifteen hundred years or so."

"That is correct," Snape said. "In fact the first recorded instance of a modern magical bond in Britain occurred between the Saxon princess Rowena and the wizard-king Vortigern. Rowena was trained by the Völva of the Norse, and bore a Norse wand. She was the first witch on English soil to wield one, and she used what we would call a modern bond to secure her place as Vortigern's second wife. In unofficial histories, this is recognized as the end of the primacy of wizards and the ascendency of witches in our society. This was also the origin of the modern Covens. While Merlin saw the wand-wielding witches as a threat and destroyed Rowena and Vortigern's court, Rowena had already spread the secret of wands. Every child, boy or girl, born to wand-wielding witches, was raised to wield a wand. Witches gathered around the powerful wizards, and those groups had the most children, and thus gained prestige and power. Eventually, the coven structure arose from those groupings. Within five hundred years, wands were used from Spain to the Mongol tribes of China, and five hundred years after that began to spread throughout the Americas."

Kevin Entwhistle raised his hand before asking, "So what was it like before then?"

"Traditions varied by culture and location, where enough witchborn survived to form a society, that is to say. In the Celtic tradition, wizards employed powerful staffs, and actually bound witches to them using this staff in an opposite fashion as happens today. Wizards would form prides of witches, and fight other wizards for possession of those prides. The magic of the witches served to strengthen the wizard, rather than the opposite. These groups formed the proto-covens of the pre-Roman world. The Romans, of course, violently opposed witchcraft and made a point of killing any witchborn they could find. The idea of magic clashed with their mind-set—a mind-set which unfortunately carried into the Romanized Christians. This forced most continental and southern British wizards and witches into hiding, and it was during this period the Veil was first developed. That is why the Veil is true wandless magic—it predates wands by centuries." The professor glared at the boys. "Now, how does a bond form?" he demanded.

Harry hesitantly raised his hand; Snape ignored him as was normal. "Mr. Malfoy?"

"You have sex, and the witch bonds her magic to yours," he said.

"Close," Snape said. "Sex and bonds are correlational, but not causational. To wit, having sex itself cannot cause a bond to form. However, bonds most often form during sex because it is an intimate situation involving significant eye-contact. I'm sure you've heard the term 'The eyes are windows to the soul?' This is literally true for us. If you are having sex with a witch, you are very likely to be smitten with her, at least at that moment. And all it takes is a moment of shared affection and a deep stare for a bond to form."

Snape sighed then before turning and flicking his wand. Two very detailed chalk figures appeared on the board—one obviously male, one obviously female. To the mutual fascination, fear and delight of the boys, the chalk figures laid down together and began coupling energetically. "Sexual intercourse, for those of you who are dunderheads, is when a man inserts his penis into the vagina of a woman, moving about thus until he ejaculates his seed. The seed then travels deeper into her womb where, if she is in season, her egg is waiting. The seed fertilizes the egg, which grows over the course of nine months or so into a baby."

Suddenly the chalk figures turned red for the man and blue for the woman, and enlarged until their heads dominated the chalkboard. They were staring intently at each other as his red thick magic and her thinner blue magic reached out to each other. Suddenly his red bond was blunted somehow at her eyes, the thickness of the line pared down to a thin third of the original thickness, while the blue magic tripled its width, until where before red dominated, now her magic dominated the connection.

"As you can see," Snape said dryly, "at the beginning of the bond, the magical connection is roughly proportionate to each partner's magical strength. However, by the time it is formed, the male draw is deeply weakened while the female draw is significantly strengthened, meaning that the woman now has a greater pull on the man's magic than the man has on hers. We believe this happens because the use of wands has actually shaped the magical development of women over the years. It is not surprising that wandcraft is a closely guarded secret of the covens. No man has ever made a wand, and there remains a law on the books today that any wizard attempting to do so will be thrown through the Veil of Death."

Harry felt his stomach dropping, but Snape wasn't through. "We are having this discussion in private as we have every year since we wizards realized what was happening. The truth is that we are _controlled_ by the witches in our lives, and our entire society is organized around that central fact. The Covens allow us the Wizengamot to give us the illusion of importance, but it is the Dames who control what happens, not the Elders."

"That's not right!" Seamus Finnigan burst out. "Why do we let them do that?"

"Because most men, Mr Finnigan, enjoy having sex and wish to continue to do so," Snape said dryly. "Perhaps when you have a moment you should look up Aristophenes' _Lysistrata_. While a comedy, it clearly illustrates the power sex holds over men."

Despite their young ages, the boys were fascinated enough at the prospect of sex not to deny the professor's assertions.

Snape walked around his wife's desk and sat down. "The truth is sometimes difficult to ponder, but this is a witch's world. There are more of them, and they have crafted magic to ensure they maintain control over us. While an individual wizard can be anywhere from twice to ten times as strong as a witch magically, once bonded to two witches most wizards are actually weaker than their bond mates magically speaking. That, of course, is the whole point. Now, your options are to learn to live within the system, rebel against the system and be reviled and likely killed, or leave the system entirely and have a Veil attached and your magic bound. Those are your only options—the covens have made sure of it."

Snape stood again. "So, down to the details of what is safe and what, generally, is not. Generally, do not engage in any intimate contact with a witch until you feel you are ready to bond. However, since I know you are boys, that will only last for so long. So, when you decide you just can't wait any longer and a witch is willing, here are things to avoid."

He turned and flicked his wand again. The chalk figures vanished, and words appeared.

_Snogging_

_Eye contact_

_Missionary-style vaginal sex_

_Missionary-style _anything

"As you can see, anything that involves you being face-to-face with a witch during any form of physical intimacy is dangerous. Many times, the more cunning witches will offer sexual favours that do not involve eye-contact in the hope this will lead you to become comfortable with them over time, leading finally to a bonding in a moment of relaxation. This is, in fact, very common."

A line appeared underneath the list of things not to do. Underneath the lines: _What society expects. _

"It is expected that, sooner or later, every one of you will form a bond. Those magically able are expected to form two bonds. Because of this, whether intentionally or through poaching, it is almost certain that you will all experience bonding. So we will now discuss what will happen, and what you can expect."

_Intense sexual pleasure_

_Light-headedness_

_Emotionalism_

_Magical exhaustion_

"The moment of bonding will be the single most intensely pleasurable experience any of you will ever have," Snape said. "It will overwhelm you and leave you giddy and lightheaded for roughly ten days. For the next week to ten days you'll feel intense emotions, far beyond normal. Wizards immediately after bonding are often seen in tears or raging uncontrollably. And then, after the euphoria fades, comes the realization of magical exhaustion; that your magic is now being drawn upon regularly, and that you are not as powerful as you were before. Usually this is expressed in your spell casting.

"The only time a bond does not result in pleasure is if you are not physically or magically mature enough to handle the connection. In this case, you will feel such intense, overwhelming agony that it will obliterate your psyche and leave you a vegetable, if it does not in fact kill you."

Thirteen boys stared in horror at Snape.

"And no, for those who do not know me and think that I may have a sense of humour, I am not joking. There have been fifteen true underage bondings in the past thirty years, and every one of them is at the long-term ward at St. Mungo's. If you are not absolutely sure of your own sexual maturity, then do not even risk being close to a witch if you can help it."

"Er, how do you know?" Anthony Goldstein, a boy as small as Harry, said. "I mean, if you're ready."

"If you ejaculate after masturbation without discomfort, then you are sufficiently mature," Snape said.

Harry felt his cheeks flush. He'd never even _thought_ of anything like that. He'd been hard on several occasions, but did nothing about it.

"For those of you who do not know, the normal masturbation charm should be simple enough for even dunderheads to remember. Two words: _mas_, meaning man, and _turbare_, meaning to excite. And yes, it is the root of the modern word, which should give you some indication that it has been around for some time. You point your wand at your penis, and incant '_Mas turbare!'_ and if your intent is there, which I'm sure it will be, you will have the desired result. We teach you this, because it is far safer for all of you to relieve yourselves individually than risk bonding before you are ready.

"And for Merlin's sake, make sure your curtains are drawn, you've cast a silencing charm, and you've placed a cloth, towel or sock over yourself!"

Snape shook his head, looking as if he wanted very much to throw up at that moment. "I will, of course, alert the elves that you have been given this lesson." He visibly shuddered. "Now, questions?"

Hesitantly, Harry lifted his hand. "Professor, does bonding with someone make you love them?"

Snape actually sneered, but then quickly hid the expression. "Love has nothing to do with a magical bond. It is possible to bond with someone you normally dislike intensely, so long as there is a shared moment of intimacy, affection and eye contact _at that moment_. Bonds are a magically-reinforced biological phenomenon observed only in witches and wizards to increase the likelihood of a wizard's participation and protection of a witch raising her young. Whatever else you might say, given our brutal history of oppression at the hands of Muggles, even I can understand the underlying biological necessity behind these bonds. If you find yourself bonded to someone you do not like…I strongly encourage you to explore love potions. There are several to choose from. Now, class is dismissed. Get out."

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

That night, Harry curled up on his side hugging his ribs tightly and trying with all his might to keep from laughing. Across the room, Ron kept whispering loudly, "_Mass Tarbar!_ Ouch, bloody 'ell, why won't it work. _Mass Tarbar!_"

Unfortunately, Seamus didn't have Harry's restraint and started snickering, and it was like a torpedo to Harry's dam. He started laughing, and he just couldn't stop. "Cut it out, guys!" Ron whined from his bed. "It's not funny!"

That just made Seamus start laughing harder, and even Neville started chuckling.

"Guys! It's not funny! Why isn't it working?"

Neville, ever the kindest of them, finally said, "You're saying it wrong, that's why you git. It's _Mas Turbare! _Say it like 'Ma-as' with a short 's' sound, and 'Toor-bar-ee'."

"_Mas Turbare!" _Ron said from his bed, before screaming, "It works! It works! Come see!"

Harry laughed so hard he fell out of his bed, while Seamus said, "We don't want to see your little ginger dick, Ron! Close up your bloody curtains!" He managed all this in a breath before collapsing in laughter again.

Harry continued laughing until he finally got to sleep.

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

After a close game in which Gryffindor beat the Hufflepuffs, and in which the Slytherins slaughtered the Ravenclaws, Christmas finally arrived at Hogwarts. Harry, of course, elected to stay in the castle. As a third year, he had more privileges than his first two years, meaning he could move about the castle on his own.

Or so he thought. On the third day of the holiday, however, his attempt to get to the library was thwarted when a heavily pregnant Aurora Sinistra stepped into his path. "Sorry, Mr Potter, but I'm afraid you'll have to come back to the library another time."

Harry stared at the beautiful witch in confusion. The ethereal thinness was gone from her face due to the flush of pregnancy. More amazing, though, was the small spot of magic within her womb. It was already blue—the child would be a Slytherin. "But why, Professor? I still have a paper to write."

Sinistra was always one of the fairest of the professors, as well as being in general kind, if not demanding. She looked at him intently for a moment, as if weighing something in her mind. Finally, she said, "Do you remember what almost happened with Healer Carlisle during your first year?"

"Yes."

"Do you know why?"

"Something to do with her being an aether too."

"Yes. You're aware that there is another aether student in Hogwarts, correct? A second-year witch?"

"You mean Luna Lovegood," Harry said, flushing with realization. "She's in there, isn't she?"

"She is. Her father was travelling, and so she is staying over the holidays this year. Unfortunately, we cannot risk you accidentally bonding."

Harry thought about it, and shuddered at the thought. "You're right, Professor, thank you. Still, it's not fair to make you go trudging around the castle. Do you think we could come up with some other means to make sure we don't run into each other?"

"We might consider it," Sinistra said, visibly relieved.

"Okay, then. Well, thank you for the warning. Good luck on the baby, I'm sure she'll make you proud." With that, Harry turned and started back to the tower while Sinistra stared after him with a gaping jaw.

"Could he really see it's a girl?" she asked the air after his passage.

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

That evening, Harry had a surprise visit from the Weasley twins. Ron wasn't there in the castle for the holiday, so he had absolutely no idea why the twins would be.

"OWL year," Fred explained when Harry asked, while Georgina hit his shoulder and said, "None of your business."

Harry could tell from their magic that both were lying. "Are Angelina and Lee staying?"

From the twins' mutual blush, Harry began to understand. Georgina, however, pointed her wand and said, "Say a word to anyone, and I'll charm your own shite to attack you!"

"Not a word!" Harry swore. "Though it's kind of neat that you don't have to worry about bonding."

"Shut it!" Georgina said.

"Now, Little Harrikins, to our reason for being here," Fred said extravagantly. "It has come to our attention that we are in possession of something that rightly belongs to you. This was brought to our attention by a certain professor who shall not be named."

"Lupin," Georgina coughed in her hand.

"WHO SHALL NOT BE NAMED!" Fred said with pretend anger. "Now, where were we? Oh, yes. Evidently, there is a certain second year Ravenclaw who you should endeavour to avoid for reasons that we don't know anything about."

"Bonding!" Georgina coughed again.

"SHUT IT, YOU!" Fred said. "Er, where was I? Oh, right. Well, Professor Lupin found us using this particular item and noted his part in its creation, and further mentioned that an heir for it was right here in the castle, and had actual need of it. Being the wonderful, awesome blokes we are…"

"Speak for yourself," Georgina snapped, no longer bothering to cough. She crabbed her sizable bust and said, "This is all woman here, you prat."

"And a nice set of knockers they are," Fred said. "Anyway, here we go." He produced a thick fold of parchment, tapped his wand to it, and said, "I Solemnly Swear That I am Up To No Good!"

Suddenly the front of the parchment came alive with magic and writing. **Messrs Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs, Purveyors of Aids to Magical Mischief-Makers are proud to present THE MARAUDER'S MAP.**

To Harry's amazement, the parchment unfolded on its own to reveal an amazingly detailed map of the whole castle, with a legend on the left fold listing the different floors of the castle. He touched his wand to one and the whole map changed to the second floor. "This is amazing," Harry whispered.

"And it's rightfully yours," Fred said. "Lupin said Prongs was your dad."

Harry absorbed that in silence, while his eyes scanned over the floor. Being the holidays, the castle was almost completely empty. "You're giving this to me?"

"We don't need it anymore," Fred said with a shrug.

"We know all the secret passages," George added. "And the best hiding places. The school only uses half the castle, and even then not much of it."

"Wow, you two, this is great. Thank you!"

"Just remember to beware Loony Ravenclaws!" Fred said dramatically.

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

That night, Harry watched on the map as Fred Weasley and Angelina Johnson seemed to join together on the map, their names squashed together so tightly the letters jumbled. More astonishing was that in the very same room on the fifth floor East Corridor, far from any active classrooms, Lee and Georgina's names were just as jumbled together. Moreover, the jumbles kept moving, sometimes switching orientation or even positions around the room.

Harry knew EXACTLY what they were doing, but just found it amazing that they were doing it together, in the same room. It just seemed so nasty. He switched floors, one after the other, until he came to the seventh floor where he saw a single pair of footprints and the name Luna Lovegood.

There was no one else in the corridor, or even on the floor. Still, she stood there next to the wall, facing it from what he could tell by the orientation of the tiny footprints that served to show her position.

He'd been hearing about Luna Lovegood for the past year and a half, but he only knew she was short and blonde. He'd never been close enough to get a good glimpse at her features, and he honestly never heard anything good about her from the second year boys who had flying lessons with her. Evidently she fell off her broom three times and ended up taking a Troll for that lesson.

He heard from Hermione, who heard from Denise Creevey, who heard from Ginny Weasley, that Luna threw up violently her first time through the Floo, just like he did, and did not seem to have many friends. At least in that regard Harry could say he had Neville and Ron, and though they still weren't close he got along okay with Seamus.

Of course, being a thirteen-year-old boy, Harry wasn't not quite self-aware enough to know his fascination with her was simply because she was forbidden, that if he had met her and spoken to her, he likely wouldn't be staring down at her name and footprints on a magical map. But she WAS forbidden, and more importantly, he knew exactly why. She was only a second year, and he only a third year. He was in no position to bond with anyone.

And yet…_Silver_ _blue eyes stare up at him from under the curl of her bangs. She is standing in his room, nude and pale and beautiful. Her face is a blur; instead all he can see clearly is a silver representation of a three-phased moon. _

_Pleasure so intense it blinds him washes through his body as he feels himself surging into her. _

Harry gasped for breath and waited for the inevitable pain of a vision, but it did not come. Instead, what came was the most painfully taut erection he'd ever experienced. Assured that he was alone, he pointed his wand and said, "_Mas turbare!"_

Though it was the first time he had ever employed the charm, it was designed for brain-addled boys as far back as Roman times, and it worked as it had for countless generations. Harry threw his head back as the charm took over, stimulating him like a woman's mouth would, until within mere seconds he felt an intense pressure build from the base of his scrotum while heat flushed through his body.

Even so, for a brief, silly moment he actually thought what he was doing was peeing, until he ventured a look. A sudden, euphoric sense of relaxation swept through him as he leaned back in his bed. He used his wand to banish the mess as best he could, before turning his attention back to the map.

Luna was still there, but now her feet were facing away from the wall and spread further apart, pointing at an angle away from centre, and blurring a little as if she were moving her feet about. Given his recently activity, Harry realized with a start that she was doing the same exact thing he was.

"Good night, Luna," he whispered.

Her feet came together then, and in his mind he knew she was saying good night to him as well.

* * *

sp

sp

**Author's Note**: Very special thanks as always to Teufel1987, JR and Miles for beta reading.


	22. Grim Tidings

A/N: Chapter Twenty-One review responses are available in my forums.

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Two: Grim Tidings**

Harry adopted a new habit over the remainder of his Christmas Holiday—Luna-watching. Each night when he went to bed, he pulled out the map and watched as Luna meandered haplessly throughout the castle, well after curfew. As a second year she should not have been left so alone, though he knew from Hermione in Care of Magical Creatures class that second year girls were not watched as closely as the boys were. After all, it wasn't as if older boys were out to poach the younger girls. Most seventh year boys were already bonded and living in married quarters, as were more than a few sixth years.

Luna would stop every so often and spin around in a circle before continuing her meanderings. Sometimes she would stop and stare at a wall, and in his mind's eye Harry envisioned her studying some of the portraits.

He did not have any more visions like that first time, and consequently did not feel any need to employ his newly learned Charms work. However, for reasons he couldn't say, it brought him some small comfort to watch Luna Lovegood's footsteps walk through the castle. It felt almost as if he were there with her, holding her hand and looking at the portraits with her. In his mind, at least, it felt like an intensely personal companionship, one he had never known before.

That's what he was doing two nights after Christmas, in fact, when he saw something new on the map. He didn't realize what he was seeing, at first. There were paw prints, rather than footprints, which was odd because the map didn't track any other animals that he had noticed. Moreover, the paw-prints had a name that the map illustrated in red with small animated fireworks: PADFOOT.

As Harry watched, another name appeared: MOONY. Moony ran toward where Padfoot was approaching the Gryffindor tower, his footsteps flying over the floor. Though Harry could not see exactly what transpired, he could hear a deep, resounding _thud_ ring through the castle. Paw-prints turned to footsteps and the name PADFOOT changed suddenly to Sirius Black. Sirius black was facing Moony. Another _thud_ reverberated through the floor of the tower, followed by a third, before Padfoot turned and ran away. Mid-step the footprints turned to paw-prints.

Suddenly a block of black appeared on the map, soaring toward Moony.

Harry jumped from his bed, with his wand in hand, and ran down the tower stairs to the empty common room. The Fat Lady screamed at him when he rushed outside, only to come to a sudden standstill.

Professor Remus Lupin lay prostrate on the ground while a cloud of darkness hovered over him. "Professor!" Harry screamed.

The shadow pulled back from Lupin and stared with an eyeless face at Harry. He raised his wand and shouted "_Incendio_!"

There were very few occasions when a person's elemental inclination made itself known with the exception of a handful of elemental spells. For Slytherins, this consisted of water-based spells. Ravenclaws were well known for powerful wind spells, while Hufflepuffs could conjure earth and were also very good at prodding plants to grow.

For Gryffindors, though, fire was their natural inclination, and Harry was more powerful than most Third Years. Moreover, his magic was influenced by desperation and fear. What emerged from his wand was not a small ball of fire, but a stream of near white-hot flame that slammed into the Dementor.

The power of the fire pushed the demon back, but did not harm it. Even while he forced his magic into his wand, Harry felt a sense of profound despair when he saw that the Dementor had risen upright and spread its skeletal arms out to either side, and was now absorbing the fire into its darkness as if it were nothing but a stiff breeze.

Suddenly he heard Lupin call out, _"Expecto Patronum!"_

A doe of pure white light burst from his wand and ran through the air right into the darkness of the Dementor. Where Harry's powerful fire spell had no effect, the doe had an immediate one. Where white magic collided with black demon, Harry could see the living darkness of the Dementor actually crack. The demon keened with a horrible cry before turning and flying back down the corridor it came from.

When Harry turned, Lupin was on his knees and as pale as a sheet. He started to tumble forward as Harry tried to catch him. "It's not safe out here," the professor whispered weakly. "You need to get back in your dorm!"

"No, I need to get you to the hospital wing," Harry countered. He stepped back and cast a _Levicorpus_ on his professor, and then ran with Lupin floating behind him to the hospital wing.

Madam Pomfrey was asleep, but her seventh year intern was on duty. "What's going on here?" she demanded.

"There was a Dementor in the school!" Harry said. "It attacked Professor Lupin before he cast a _Patronus_!"

The intern paled and then spun and ran to the wall where the funnel of a speaking tube projected out. "Madam Pomfrey, I need your help!" she yelled into the funnel.

A few moments later a tired-looking mediwitch stormed into the Hospital Wing. The intern filled her in immediately. "Mr Potter claims Professor Lupin was attacked by a Dementor, and he does show signs demonic proximity, but he's also been hit by a pair of dark curses."

Harry blinked before looking at his professor. "Oh, that must have been from Sirius Black."

The two women stopped mid-word. Her hand to her chest, Pomfrey finally sputtered, "What did you say, Mr Potter?"

"Sirius Black was trying to break into Gryffindor Tower and Professor Lupin stopped him, and it was after that that the Dementor attacked."

Pomfrey straightened, turned to her intern, and said, "Fetch the headmaster immediately. Use my Floo."

"Yes, Madam!"

Before the girl was gone, Pomfrey already had Lupin's shirt banished, exposing two black spots on his chest. To Harry, both spots were shimmering with deep blue magic that the fire in Remus's chest was fighting desperately against.

Clucking her tongue, Pomfrey started chanting in a language Harry couldn't even guess at. Her magic was white, like the _Patronus_, and seemed to surround the blue. However, it could not remove it, it simply surrounded it and seemed to separate it from the fire of Lupin's own magic. She did the same for the second spot, while muttering to herself that she had no idea how deep the curse had penetrated.

"Quarter of an inch, Madame," Harry said.

Pomfrey froze. "Hmm," she said after a moment's thought. "Forgot you were there. However…quarter of an inch, you say? You can see the curse, then?"

"It's a really dark blue."

"Alright, then, let's try something. _Accio _Essence of Dittany."

A large bottle flew into her waiting hand from around a corner, while she kept her wand on Lupin. "Potter, listen to me, I'm going to remove the cursed tissue. I need you to tell me if I get it all. If any of the blue remains, it could kill him, do you understand?"

"Yes, Madam,"

With a nod, she gritted her teeth and cast. Her magic came out as bright red, almost like Harry's fire but more controlled. Immediately the blackened skin on Lupin's chest started to burn away, sprouting blood. The man convulsed in agony despite being unconscious, but he could not seem to move beyond the bed, and Pomfrey continued unabated. Harry stared in sick fascination as the skin burned away.

"There, that got it all!" Harry said.

With an explosive sigh, Pomfrey released her spell and poured almost half the bottle onto the bleeding, open wound. The dittany was perfectly clear, like water, until it came in contact with Lupin's magic. It immediately turned the exact colour of his magic as it began replacing the flesh itself.

"So it makes his own magic heal him faster?" he wondered aloud.

"What's that, Potter?"

"The Dittany turned the same colour as his magic."

"Oh, well, yes. Dittany encourages the user's own magic to healing purposes. It's useless on Muggles, but on magicals, it's as close to phoenix tears as one can get without the phoenix. Now, we're going to do the same thing on the next curse. Are you ready?"

"Yes, ma'am."

They were just finishing with the second curse when Albus Dumbledore arrived, bedecked in purple. Surprisingly, though, he was accompanied by Kingsley Shacklebolt in red Auror robes. "How is he, Poppy?" the Headmaster asked.

"He'll survive. Black used level five restricted curses on him, Professor. I daresay if Mr Potter had not brought him in as quickly as he did, he'd be dead."

"Indeed," Dumbledore said, casting a speculative glance at Harry. "And what was Mr Potter doing out of his common room so late at night?"

Not wanting to give away his father's map, Harry said, "I heard a loud thudding sound, Professor, and when I went to check it out I saw a dementor over Professor Lupin. I tried a fire spell but it didn't work. Professor Lupin cast a _Patronus_ though, that chased it off, but then he collapsed."

"Impossible!" Kingsley said. "The Dementors have orders to stay out of the castle."

"Kingsley Shacklebolt, I'll have you know the boy's telling the truth!" Pomfrey said primly. "Remus's aura was touched by one of those demons!"

Shacklebolt looked shaken. "It must have followed Black into the castle, that's the only reason I can think of," he said.

"Just like they followed Black into the Quidditch game and threatened my students?" Dumbledore said his blue eyes cold. "Kingsley, please express to Madam Bones my grave displeasure at having those things by my school. Please let her know one of my professors was attacked, and remind her of why she had her department's budget restored."

"Yes, Chief Warlock," Shacklebolt said curtly. "And the boy?"

"Saved his professor's life, and that's done with," he said. "Go on now, Kingsley."

With that the Auror turned and walked away, shaking his head. Dumbledore turned to Harry and said, "It was a very brave thing you did, Mr Potter, but also quite foolish. Sirius Black means you harm, and while you are powerful and resourceful, you are also thirteen, while he is nearly forty, and quite the accomplished wizard at that. Please remember that. Now, I shall accompany you back to your room, while Professor Lupin recuperates from his ordeal."

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

Lupin was back in class two days later. After their class was over, Harry lingered a few moments while Professor Lupin made a point of ignoring him in favour of a stack of essays. "Professor Lupin?" he finally asked.

"Yes, Harry?"

"I think I may need another detention."

Smirking, Lupin finally looked up. "Oh? And what have you done to earn a detention, Mr Potter?"

"I've been spying on my fellow students with my father's map." Given it was Lupin who told the twins to give it to him, Harry did not mind confessing he used the thing.

"Really?" Lupin stood and paced about with his hands in his pockets. "That's nothing we didn't do at your age. The map after all can't show you what someone is doing, only where someone is."

"Or who they're in," Harry said.

Remus barked out a laugh. "Indeed, I remember what the map does in that case. Very well, detention tonight. Now, the real reason?"

"I want to learn the Patronus Charm."

Lupin raised an eyebrow. "Mr Potter, your father was an Auror captain, and nearly washed out of training because of that spell. It took me almost six months of intense training to learn it myself as an adult and I've been called passing smart. Why in Merlin's name do you think I could teach it to a thirteen-year-old boy?"

"Can't you even try?" Harry asked desperately. "Please? Those Dementors…they're black. All black inside…"

"That's because Dementors are demons. They are anti-magic, like vacuums," Lupin said. "They feed on souls, and since our magic is an extension of our soul energy, they consume our magic as well. If you had made that fire with Muggle napalm, for instance, it would have burned. But since it was conjured fire, the Dementor simply absorbed it."

Harry looked down at his feet, feeling the familiar bitter taste of denial. "Fine. Thank you anyway, Professor."

He turned to leave when Lupin said, "Don't forget your detention tonight, Harry. I can't promise you that you'll learn it, but I am willing at least to try to teach you."

Harry fought down a surge of happiness and reduced it to just a smile. "Thank you. I'll see you tonight."

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

Gryffindor pushed past Ravenclaw by thirty points thanks to Harry's beating Cho Chang to the snitch at the last minute. Unfortunately, Slytherin destroyed Hufflepuff, sweeping the first round, and guaranteeing themselves a place at the house championship game.

Classes continued apace, leaving little time for any of them to worry about anything else. Having eight straight hours of class every day would have been exhausting, physically and mentally, for normal children. The staff of Hogwarts, however, knew from centuries of experience that witchborn children were not the same as Muggle children. And so the young witches and wizards were continually pushed and prodded. Failure was not an option, and where a student struggled, additional intervention was made until that student made the minimum required grades.

Harry was certainly not the best student, but he was far above Ron Weasley, placing third out of thirteen boys, and ninth out of all forty third-years. He wasn't proud of his performance, or upset either. After all, he had no one to show his grades to; no possibility of having a report given a place of honour on the Dursleys refrigerator.

One of the few high points of his academic life was Care for Magical Creatures. Professor Sylvania Kettleburn was nearly ecstatic to learn that Harry was a magical omniglot and repeatedly asked him what specific creatures were saying. Often during class Harry would have to translate, "I am hungry, food" and "Itchy, itchy, balls itchy". It seemed even magical creatures really didn't have all that much to say normally. However, it was enough to ensure he received highest marks from the old, scarred spinster of a witch.

Divination, on the other hand, was simply a pain. He received six different visions during the first term, and another two in the second, from the various forms of divination, mostly from Cartomancy, Chiromancy (Palmistry—in which he learned Lavender would lose her virginity before leaving Hogwarts, though he was damned if he was going to tell her that). And Causimancy, which appeared to be a favourite of Gryffindors since it involved divination through fire.

Every time, he got a blinding headache and a vision that just wasn't worth the effort. He really did not want to know that Parvati would get an upset stomach and sick up on her bed that night, or that Gregoria Goyle had a dildo the size of a small baby that she played with almost nightly.

That last vision actually made his nose bleed and vomit come up, though not because of the power required to have it, but because of the vision itself.

Professor Trelawney was not only unsympathetic, but seemed to take a devilish delight in his pain. The other students, however, eyed him with equal parts respect and suspicion, since none of them ever knew what he saw.

Muggle Studies was just not the same, and Professor Geneva Pax simply wasn't as good as Charity was. Even if she were, Harry would never have admitted it. Still, he did his work every day and prepared for his GCSE the following year.

His detentions with Remus were less productive, but he refused to give up. Instead, he had the professor conjure his _Patronus_ and watched how his magic gathered in his chest. Before it travelled to his arm, though, it merged with a sliver of silver from his mind, and it was that silver piece of magic which caused the _Patronus_ to actually form.

"You said I have to use the happiest memory I have," Harry said. "Professor, what memory do you use?"

"I use a kindness done to me when I was sixteen," Lupin said with a sad, wistful smile. "A gift I've had only that one time, and never since. And no, I shan't tell you, Harry. Some things are too personal to share. What is your happiest memory?"

"Does it have to be a memory?" Harry asked.

"What do you mean?"

Harry felt his cheeks burn. "Well, er, I had a vision, you see. A really, really nice vision. It made me feel really happy."

"Even if it was only a vision, you remember it, and so you can use it. Actually, the fact you even made a mist is quite remarkable, Harry. Frankly I'm encouraged."

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

Sometimes, though not as often as he did at Christmas, Harry pulled out his father's map. Always, without exception, he would find Luna walking alone through the castle well after curfew. Every time he found her, she would spin around a few times, before resuming her walks. He liked to think that she was greeting him in her own way, though of course there was no way she could know he was watching over her.

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

With the first of February came another hard-fought match between Gryffindor and Slytherin to start the second round of play. This time, there were neither grims nor dementors, and Harry took exceeding pleasure in snatching the Snitch out from right in front of Malfoy's face to clench the victory.

That night, he watched on the map as Fred and George celebrated their victory with Angelina and Lee. He celebrated in his own way as well, while Luna spun about on the map in greeting.

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

The second Saturday in May dawned bright and beautiful. It was the day of the championship between Gryffindor and Slytherin, and Oliver Wood had slipped entirely beyond the bounds of sanity.

He marched the halls of the tower screaming the Gryffindor Fight Song, which incidentally went by, "Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight!" to the tune of _God Save The Queen_. It was repetitive, certainly but also surprisingly easy to sing along with.

Harry was not nearly as nervous as his first two years. The game was that afternoon, so he ate an unusually large breakfast with the plan of eating a light lunch. He sat with his teammates that morning rather than with roommates, and for that moment it didn't matter that he was still the youngest person on the team, or that three of his teammates were busy shagging each other's brains out with a reservist every other night. At that moment, with Wood calling on them to fight and show their Gryffindor courage, all was right in the world.

Six hours later the game started, and kept on going and going. After the first hundred points Harry gave up on helping the Chasers and started concentrating on finding the blasted Snitch, but it was nowhere to be seen. After the first three hours, exhaustion began taking its toll. Both teams rotated in their reservists just for a chance to get a breather, save for Harry who had no official back up.

Play became sloppy on both sides, but Gryffindor managed to retain a slight lead well into the fifth hour. Finally, Harry spotted the Snitch hovering at the far end of the Gryffindor goals. He was so tired of playing that he didn't even bother to hide his approach, but instead leaned down and shot forward like a missile.

Draco, caught up short and just as exhausted, did not even move at first until he realized Harry had actually seen the Snitch. He shot after, but with far too great a distance to make up in the time remaining.

Surprisingly the Snitch did not dip or swerve to avoid his hand, and the moment he touched it two things happened. On the first, the gong ending the game sounded and Gryffindor won its third straight Quidditch Cup. The second was more curious to all who watched; Harry Potter disappeared.

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**Author's Note**: Very special thanks as always to Teufel1987, JR and Miles for beta reading.


	23. Black

A/N: Chap 22 Review Responses are available in my forums as always. Thank you for reading.

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**Chapter Twenty-Three: Black**

Harry would never, ever complain about travelling by Floo again.

When he at last tumbled to his knees and lost every bite of food he'd consumed in the last ten years of his life, he collapsed onto his side and groaned in misery. His head spun with the violence of the Portkey, since he knew from Wizarding Studies that is what it had to have been. Only when the worst of the dizziness passed did he bother to look up at his surroundings.

He found himself staring at the most hideously ugly house-elf he had ever seen. The ancient creature's proboscis-like nose stuck out from its face like something Gregoria Goyle would play with at night, while the rest of its small, pale, withered body was shrouded in an old tea napkin.

"Filthy half-blood fouled Kreacher's floor, the shame, the shame," the house elf mumbled. With a flick of its fingers the pool of vomit disappeared. A second snap, and Harry found himself blasted back by a rush of air until he slammed into a wall. "Kreacher has the half-blood, master," the old elf said.

Harry tried picking himself up, but was having a hard time catching his breath. He did look up, though, just in time to see a man step down from the landing of stairs. He wore black trousers and a dark purple vest over a lace-lined doublet. Long, curly black hair streaked with grey fell about his shoulders, while intense black eyes stared at him.

"Harry Potter," he said, almost breathing the name out. "The Boy Who Lived. Welcome to the Noble and Most Ancient of Black. I'm Sirius, and I'll be your executioner today."

Suddenly he burst out laughing, a laughter so loud and hard that the man eventually bent over and fought to breathe. Gradually, the manic laughter changed into great, wracking sobs before the man collapsed on the steps and went completely silent. Seeing an opportunity, Harry lifted his wand to cast a stunning spell he'd learned during his many detentions with Remus.

Black did not even look up as he batted the stunner away with his own wand before shooting a silent disarming hex. Harry tried to roll out of the way, but the spell still caught his arm and spun him around until he landed on his back with a thud and a violent expulsion of breath. His wand went straight to Sirius, who slipped it into his pocket.

"None of that, now, Harry. That's not how you're supposed to treat your godfather, after all."

"And killing me is how you're supposed to treat your godson?" Harry shouted back angrily.

"Yes, well, do as I say, not as I do and all that rot," Sirius said lightly. He then frowned. "I am going to kill you, Harry. I have to really. They have my brother, you see."

"But you were my godfather!" Harry protested.

"But that's not what your mum wanted, is it?" Sirius snapped. "Good old Lily. Always had a plan, always knew best what to do. Your Dad was fun before that witch sucked out his soul. Bloody slag, she was."

"You shut up!" Harry shouted. "You don't talk about my Mum like that!"

"She slept with Moony you twit!" Sirius snapped back. "She slept with Severus _Fucking _Snape!"

Harry stared at him, stunned and confused. "What…?"

"Magic damn her!" Sirius said. "She learned how to block bonds with that damnable Occlumency of hers, and slept with half the damn school before she decided she wanted a rich wizard from a light coven. She picked James because of Dame Griffin, no other reason. You think it was a love match? She fucked Severus Snape. How would a woman who could do that know anything about love?"

"You're lying," Harry said, shaking his head and fighting tears.

"Ask Mooney, since you're so cosy with him now," Sirius said. "Oh, never mind, you'll be dead soon enough." He raised his wand and shouted, "_Avada Kedavra_!"

Deathly green light flashed from his wand and struck Harry in the arm—he felt dizzy from dark magic, but nothing else. Sirius stared first at his wand, then at Harry with a gaping jaw. "Bloody hell, you _really_ do have to mean it," he muttered before collapsing right to the floor on his knees.

"Please just let me go," Harry begged.

"I can't, boy," Sirius said. He looked up and stared into Harry's eyes. "She loved everyone around her, why couldn't she love me too?" he whispered. "How could she sleep with two of my best friends, but not me?"

Harry stared not just at the man, but at his boiling magic. It had the fire of Gryffindor, but touched by the black of dementors from his long stay in Azkaban. The demonic energy ran through his whole body, even into the welling of magic behind his eyes.

"Why did you betray my family?" Harry asked with forced calm.

"To save my brother," Sirius said. "And because…because…"

Harry moved closer to the man until he knelt in front of him a few feet away. "Why?"

"Because my friends left me," he finally admitted with a sob. He wiped a huge swatch of snot on his arm, leaving sticky glue in his thick, untrimmed moustache. "James left me. We promised we'd hold out, that we wouldn't give in to those damned, grabbing witches. Then there comes Lily, little Miss 'I can shag you without bonding' Lily. Pretty little ginger was smarter than all the rest. Didn't get what she wanted from old Sevvy, and so she came to us. First Remus, then she stole James from me."

Suddenly he exploded. "She stole my friend!" At the same time, he lashed out and backhanded Harry hard enough to send the boy sliding across the floor. Only Harry's magic kept his jaw from being shattered.

Meanwhile, Sirius Black was on his feet screaming and ranting about how Lily stole his friend. As he watched Black ranting, Harry felt a pervading cold from a nearby window. Momentarily ignoring Black, he pulled an ancient curtain aside before stumbling back.

A dementor floated right outside the window, pressed up against the glass.

"Bloody demons can't get in, now, can they?" Sirius growled, momentarily interrupting his rant. "Follow me wherever I go, but they can't get in to this house. _Avada Kedavra!_ Damn it!"

Once again, the green light did not hurt Harry—in fact this time he felt nothing but a mild discomfort. Sirius switched tactics. "_Crucio!" _Again nothing. "Why won't it work?"

"Because you really don't want to hurt me?" Harry guessed.

Sirius glared. "Of course I don't _want_ to hurt you, twit! You're my godson. I took an oath to take care of you if anything happened to your Da! Bloody hell, I made you my heir on the day you were born. The Dark Lord promised me, you see. He only needed Lily, he didn't care about James or you. He promised! The new world wouldn't force men to slave themselves for a shag. But Lily had Jimmy so wrapped around her finger. Thought she knew everything. And now they're all dead, and Reggie is in trouble, and I have to kill you to save him, but my magic won't let me! Kreacher!" The ancient elf appeared. "Kill the boy!"

"Kreacher cannot kill witch-born, ignorant drunk master should know," the ancient elf muttered. "Would kill ignorant drunk master in crib if he could."

Sirius roared and kicked the elf like a football, sending the little creature hurtling through the air until it disappeared with a pop. Suddenly, his eyes took on a manic light.

"I know a way that would solve all my problems," he finally said with barely restrained glee. He ran forward, faster than Harry could move, and suddenly wrapped the boy in a tight embrace. He smelled strongly of firewhiskey and sweat. "I'm sorry about killing you and all," he said into Harry's ear, while his beard scratched the boy's neck. "I'd tell you it won't hurt, but it will, I'm sorry. But it's better this way. For both of us, and for Reggie."

He stood and pushed Harry away before he tapped his wand to the wall. Around Harry, all the doors slammed shut, and he could hear similar echoes from the stairs where those doors shut as well. The manic wizard walked to the front door and turned to Harry, smiling brilliantly. "I don't know what Lily was planning for you, but this is better, it really is."

He opened the door, and on his doorstep was a solid wall of writhing, teeming Dementors. "Come in and get us, you ruddy bastards!" Black called. He threw his arms back as if in welcome or benediction, and with his welcome the Dementors surged into the home. Black continued to laugh wildly as the skeletal hands clawed at his arms and face.

Harry watched in horror as the man's magic was sucked right out of him, leaving nothing but a cold, empty shell. When Black was dead, the Dementors turned their featureless black faces to him. The air around him turned bitterly cold.

He raised his wand and shouted, _"Expecto Patronum!"_ but nothing happened, not even a mist. He tried again and again, but his happy memory was lost in a haze of fear, and even without Dementors nearby he had never been able to summon more than a mist.

He felt cold, icy fingers on his skin and on his face, and black, demonic shadow pushing painfully against his magic. No, not just pushing, but _pulling_ as well. However, in the very back of his mind, he also heard a woman's voice, whispering to him.

_I will always love you, Harry. Beyond life, beyond death, I will always be a part of you, my precious boy._ A sudden, profound wave of warmth rushed through him from his scar down, leaving him tingling almost to the point of pain in its absence. With the wave of warmth came a memory, but one he could not possibly have experienced himself. It was of a tiny baby with a tuft of thin black hair, wrapped and still glistening from the womb.

Harry looked down at the thick, white swell of a breast and held the baby to the engorged nipple. There was at first a brief flicker of pain as the baby's magic reached out to form the first and most important bond a wizard or witch could ever make—and within him he felt his own magic respond as the baby pulled deeply on his milk.

It was a moment of utter, complete peace and contentment; a perfect moment out of an imperfect life. It was the moment Harry bonded with Lily; the moment son bonded with mother from the perspective of the mother. It was his mother's memory, somehow lodged in his mind.

White light roared up from his chest, while a thick band of silver memory rushed down from his mind, colliding in a perfect storm of white magic as he raised his wand to the hoard of hungry demons. Fighting for breath, he gasped, _"Expecto Patronum!"_

A silver phoenix erupted from his wand, bathing the blackened room in pure white light. Dementors howled in pain as they backed away from him, but as quickly as it came, the trilling phoenix faded away. The pure, beautiful moment passed, leaving Harry so profoundly tired it was a struggle to even keep his eyes open, despite the renewed threat of the Dementors.

Before they could approach, though, the room erupted in a column of red-yellow flame. The air rang with a trilling sound, as if a million song birds were singing counterpoint to a tabernacle choir. The sound lifted Harry up while at the same time overwhelming him. The fire brushed past him, warm without burning, and when it faded a single ancient figure stood between him and the horde of Dementors.

Dumbledore did not need words to cast magic. Harry watched from behind as the venerable headmaster summoned his magic like a conductor leading a symphony. The magic welled up from his chest, while silver streamed unbroken from his mind, and from his wand emerged another phoenix, this one twice the size of Harry's. The dementors screamed in anger against the white magic. Where the phoenix _Patronus_ struck the lead two, the demons simply puffed out of existence like balloons, only without the pop. The rest backed away, retreating from the white magic until they left the house entirely.

The ancient wizard turned to face Harry, his face filled with righteous anger and magic. "Are you well, Harry?"

Too exhausted to speak, he could only nod. Thus assured, Dumbledore turned and walked over to where Sirius Black lay sprawled, dead on the floor. He bent over slowly, as if with great effort, and with two fingers pulled the man's still staring eyes closed. "Sirius, my foolish boy," Dumbledore said softly, his head bowed.

He stood even slower than he knelt and walked back to Harry, who was fighting to keep his eyes open. "What you did was simply astounding, Harry," the ancient wizard said, "but for now, you must rest. Help shall be with us shortly—the moment Black dropped his house wards we could detect you. Close your eyes—I promise to stay with you."

With that promise, Harry closed his eyes and let the exhaustion pull him into a deep, profound slumber.

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

Harry woke gradually, as if fighting off a great weight. When at last he was able to open his eyes, he saw Remus Lupin sitting next to his bed, reading what looked like a rather unsavoury Muggle bodice-ripper.

"_The Lovers of Lucy Larimer? _Really, Professor?"

Lupin looked up in surprise at Harry, down at the book, and then grimaced and quickly put it back in his coat. "I read it for the historical parts."

"That's what Aunt Petunia told Uncle Vernon too," Harry said, not buying it for a moment.

Giving up the pretence, Lupin laughed lightly. "I'm glad to see you awake. You'll have time to actually take your exams. I understand you missed your tests your first year."

"Now that you mention it, I am still pretty tired," Harry said. He yawned convincingly.

"Sorry, Harry, but you're taking those tests."

Harry yawned anyway—he really was tired. The two sat in silence for a long minute before Harry asked the question that dominated his thoughts since he woke. "Professor, did you really…?"

"Really what, Harry?"

Harry looked down at his clenched hands. "Black said my mum was…that she slept around."

"I don't think three men over a lifetime, is sleeping around," Lupin said lightly. "Though, I suppose in a magical context it would be since a bonding is permanent. But in Muggle terms, well—according to Lily, Petunia slept with six or seven men before she settled for Vernon. Believe it or not, he was the best of the lot."

"I don't believe it."

"Everything is relative. The rest were far worse." Lupin's faint smile faded. "Harry, Lily had an extraordinary control over her magic—to an extent very, very few other people did. She credited her work with Occlumency for it. Regardless, she was able to have relations with a wizard without forming a bond. But don't think she treated this lightly. The first man she slept with was one she genuinely loved and wanted to be with."

"You mean Snape?" Harry said, astounded.

"I mean Snape," Lupin confirmed. "They had quite a lot in common, despite their different backgrounds. But unfortunately they entered into the relationship with different expectations. He expected her to bond with him and be his first wife. She expected him to love her and her alone, with no other wives. When the bond failed to take, he said some things he later regretted, and she ended their friendship. While I won't pretend to be Professor Snape's friend, I understand why he acted the way he did."

Harry's throat constricted suddenly as he said, "What about you, Professor?"

Lupin's smile turned pained, and sad. "Harry, I am a werewolf. What do you remember from class about what happens if a werewolf were to bond with a witch?"

Harry's eyes widened in horror. "They would kill the werewolf to free the witch of the bond. Lycanthropy can be passed on to children."

Lupin nodded. "I am not allowed by law to marry, Muggle or witch, for fear of infecting my wife, or potential children. That means I cannot bond with a witch. Lily found out I was a werewolf after she and Snape broke up. We were good friends, Harry. I loved her, if you must know, and I think in her own way she loved me. What we shared was a gift. Her gift to me—something I've never experienced before or since. I know it may hurt you to realize your mum was not perfect, but whatever else can be said, she was not cruel."

"What about what she did with Aunt Petunia?"

Lupin laughed suddenly. "I never said she wasn't vengeful," he said. "Petunia was not a very nice person, at all. Not then, and not now. The infamous accidental magic incident you've not doubt heard of? The one that momentarily killed your grand mum? That happened when Petunia started beating Lily up after McGonagall left, and their mum was trying to break up the fight. Petunia was a bully, plain and simple. I'll admit tying a blood ward to her was perhaps harsh, but there is no one who deserves it more than Petunia, and it kept you safe for almost ten years."

Harry nodded as he absorbed this new aspect of his mother's personality. "Sirius said she stole my dad."

Lupin shrugged. "She poached a wizard from within her own year. Every witch tries, so she wasn't unique in that aspect. The difference was that Lily was the witch every boy in school wanted to be poached by. James was sitting studying charms in the library when she walked up to him, sat down, and bonded him on the spot. Sirius, Peter and I were just coming out of class when she did it, and we saw him just burst out with giddy laughter."

"Did they even know each other?"

"Of course they did, Harry. They were year mates. James even had a crush on her. He just never thought anything would come of it. And it happened so fast—no one before then ever heard of a bonding like that. Again, it was Lily's control over her magic that let it happen. And James did have a genuine crush. I think that's when things started going wrong for Sirius, though."

"What do you mean?"

"Harry, bonds mostly happen during sex. When Lily bonded James, they…well, they had to consummate the bond fairly quickly or it would drive them both around the bend. Even though Lily's parents wouldn't allow them to marry immediately, they were bonded and moved into the married quarters. They were both sixth years. That was essentially the end of the Marauders. Oh, we still pretended for a while, but James was always the heart of the group. I was the brains, Sirius was the will, and Peter was…whatever Peter was. Regardless, without James we just drifted apart. Sirius ranted about it for days, but it was only when he stopped ranting that I realized how angry he was."

The rest, unfortunately, Harry knew. "And now he's dead."

"He's dead," Remus confirmed. "He, James, and Peter. And they wonder why the wizarding population is in such trouble? In peace we can live centuries, and yet peace is something none of us have ever known."

"What about Sirius's brother, Reggie?"

"You mean Regulus? Oh, he died the day after Voldemort disappeared. Some of his followers believed Sirius had betrayed them and led their master into a trap. I was one of the only ones at his funeral."

"But he insisted his brother was alive."

Lupin reached over and took Harry's hand. The tell-tale shock of contact was over quickly. "Harry, Sirius was a broken man. Dementor exposure does that to even the best of us. The friend I knew once long ago died the day he let himself be dragged into Voldemort's service. He was a good friend once, and that is how I wish to remember him."

"I'm sorry."

"Not your fault, Harry. And think of it in another way—the Black family was one of the only patriarchal lines left in England—dating back to the Romanized Celts. Sirius was the last male head of house for his line of the family, and controlled a sizable fortune. The Black Coven was through his Uncle Alphard, so he didn't own everything, but he owned a lot. He never updated his will, not since 1980."

"What does that mean?"

"It means, Harry, that you were his godson, and in the absence of blood heirs his sole inheritor."

"So does that make me a lord or something?"

Remus snorted. "Lord? Merlin, no! Wizard society did away with the peerage centuries back. Covens wouldn't have any type of patriarchal, lineage-based nobility interfering with their own power. It does, however, make you quite wealthy, so be on constant guard against poaching."

"Oh, okay," Harry said.

"Well, I'll leave you to it. Classes are almost over, and I'm sure your roommates and teammates will want to see you. Congratulations on the Quidditch Cup, by the way. Your father would have been proud."

"And Mum?"

Lupin gave him a long searching look before he said, "I think, Harry, you are more your mother's son than anyone realizes, possibly even you. She was a firebird, Lily was." Patting Harry's hand one last time, the professor stood and walked out of the Hospital wing.

Of course, the whole school was awash with rumours, and the Daily Prophet ran article after article talking about how long Harry must have been tortured at the hands of the Insane Sirius Black. The articles even capitalized "Insane" as if it was now officially a part of Black's name.

He told Neville and Ron about what happened, since truly there wasn't much to tell. He decided to leave out the _Patronus_ part, though, because he wasn't even sure he believed it, nor was he sure it was strictly his power that summoned it. Instead, he told everyone how Dumbledore appeared amidst a pillar of fire and drove back a whole army of Dementors single-handedly.

The awe-struck expressions his classmates and teammates sent to the head table seemed more appropriate to Harry. Dumbledore really was a hero; Harry was just a stupid kid who let himself get kidnapped. Yes, it was better this way.

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

The League of Extraordinary Parents assembled as normal at King's Cross Station. They made casual greetings, as if they had not all been speaking to each other non-stop over the past term on their computers. Hermione was the first one through the barrier, and just like the last two summers she looked like a perfectly ordinary fourteen-year-old girl in trousers and a nice blouse, while she dragged her wheeled trunk behind her.

Almost on her heels came her good friend and roommate, Deanna Thomas. Denise Creevey followed on their heels, as did Justine Finch-Fletchley, Terri Boot, and the newest child of the group, another second year named Demelza Robbins. Her parents, Tim and Marian Robbins, had been exceedingly grateful for the group as they adjusted to the shock of having a witch for a daughter.

Calliope gave her daughter a long, loving hug. With Hermione under the veil, the shock wasn't nearly as startling, and could almost be passed off as static. "Oh, how you've grown!" she said.

"Muuuum!" Hermione said with a role of her eyes.

Deanna snickered, while Denise said, "Mum! Mum! Look, I've got boobs!"

Justine Finch-Fletchley laughed. "Just don't go flashing them at everyone. I heard that Professor Binns almost died on the spot!"

"Denise, you didn't!" Allie Creevey said, aghast.

"Didn't mean to," Denise said, thoroughly deflated.

Deanna laughed. "She was comparing sizes with a couple of other girls and they sort of forgot Professor Binns was there. It's easy to do. The man is so old he's like a ghost."

After a round of fond farewells, the families parted ways. During the drive home, Hermione reached into her trunk and removed a palm-sized wooden box. Her parents pretended not to notice as she removed one of several bracelets from the box and held it up in the centre of the space.

"We're clear," she said.

Immediately Calliope turned and accepted the bracelet. "So how does it work?"

"The crystal on the bracelet lights up. It gets brighter the closer you get to the charm, until it erases it entirely. According to the squib in the store we visited, they set the monitors up in the house and then just forget about them unless you say one of several trigger words, and that's when they start paying attention. If we erase all the monitoring charms, they'll never know or even care. It's also perfectly legal since I am a witch, and I can say these were a gift."

"How many did you get?"

"Six. They were really expensive, Mum. I'm afraid I had to empty out my school vault and Justine had to help."

"They're worth it," Edwin said. "And the other families—at least those who can—will split the difference. Sir Marcus and I will go halves for Deanna and the Creeveys."

"Good," Hermione said. "Because I learned a lot about how the magical world works this year. The Wizengamot may do the talking, but it's the Covens that make the rules. There is not a single Muggle-oriented coven. Most Muggleborn don't get to participate in the government at all unless they marry into a family that belongs to an existing coven. And even older families sometimes lose their covens. Susan's aunt lost her entire coven in the last war, and even though she's the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, she had no voice in policy until she realigned her family with another coven."

"So where does that leave us?"

Hermione shrugged. "I'm still working on that part. And you'll never believe what happened to poor Harry this year…."

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**Author's Note**: Very special thanks as always to Teufel1987, JR and Miles for beta reading.


	24. Rich

A/N: Chap 23 review responses are available in my forums.

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**Chapter Twenty-Four: Rich**

_The man lies unmoving on the bed, pale and wasted, his flesh hanging loose on his bones. The only sign he lives at all is the occasional blink, and the rise and fall of his chest._

_Within his chest, dark, watery magic lays still, surrounded by a halo of silver magic. The silver encases the man's mind as well, shrouding his thoughts securely. He is naked save for a thin sheet covering him._

_The door opens and a young woman steps in—a witch from the swelling of silver-blue magic in her chest. She is a rather homely woman with a long, slightly bulbous nose and a wide face highlighted by the high planes of her cheekbones. She is heavy set, but not truly fat. It is rare for a witch to be truly fat, since magic burns calories so quickly. _

_Beside her stands a tall, gaunt man with a sunken face that reminds Harry a little of the still figure on the cot. "I'll keep your secret," the woman said, "but you know my price."_

"_He is virile," the sad-faced, broken man said._

_The woman nods, smiling saucily. "Do you want to watch?"_

_The man makes a strangling sound before turning to leave; the witch laughs as she turns to survey the still figure on the cot. She casually pulls the sheet back and clucks her tongue. "He's not feeding you enough, my boy. But you still have meat where it counts."_

_She points her wand at the man's sex and says, "_Mas Turbare!_"_

_Almost instantly he begins to harden. Nodding in satisfaction, the witch hitches up the skirt of her robe to reveal nothing underneath, steps onto the bed until she straddles him, and then lowers herself onto him, grunting with pleasure. "Yes, that will work."_

_She begins to bounce while the man simply stares without seeing at the ceiling, moaning with her pleasure as she essentially rapes a defenceless man. _

_So caught up is she in the throes of her passion that she never notices how the room grows cold; she never sees the mass of dark blue magic in a vaguely human form emerge from the wall opposite the unseeing man, or how the blue magic settles into the unconscious figure._

_The witch does not stop. She is too far gone in her lust to see her death approach. She finishes with a moan and leans over him, panting from her exertion and the pleasure it brings her. "Yes, that will do," she finally says. "The potion will ensure I conceive. I will have my child at long last."_

_For the first time, the man's stare changes direction as a thin film of black rises across his irises and pupils, until he blinks across a solid black surface. He turns and looks down at the crown of the satiated witch and sneers. His hands lift and swing together like scissors. The witch's neck snaps with a shockingly loud _crack_. She never even makes a sound she slides boneless off him to fall to the floor._

_The man with black eyes reaches down and takes her wand. The door opens moments later as the sad-faced man enters. He sees his son sitting up with pure-black eyes and the witch on the ground, and cursing tries to pull his wand. He is not fast enough. _

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

Harry woke with a scream and barely rolled off his bed before he was noisily sick all over the floor. When nothing else came but bile, he clutched at the throbbing agony in his head, curled up on his knees as he did so.

The door to his small room in Privet Four Drive, Little Whinging, swung open with a crash. "What's going on here?" Uncle Vernon bellowed. "What's this racket? What's wrong with you, boy?"

Behind Vernon, Aunt Petunia stood at the door and stared at the pool of vomit and the way her nephew clutched his head. "What is wrong with you?" She echoed her husband.

Harry sat up, and both adults sucked in a gasp. Blood ran from his nose and dripped form his blood-shot eyes like tears. Even worse, he'd let his veil drop, and so his eyes had that strange illumination the Dursleys had come to intentionally forget over the past three years. "Sorry," Harry said weakly.

"My God, what is wrong with you boy? It's not some freakish disease is it?" Vernon demanded. "You're going to clean that mess up, I'll have you know!"

"I know," Harry said, not bothering to hide his bitterness. He pushed himself to his feet on the side of the bed and took a step before falling with a thud to his knees and clutching his head again. "Just get out!" he cried. "I'll clean it up, I promise. Just leave me alone!"

Harry heard them leave and lay where he fell, taking shallow breaths. This was easily one of the most painful visions he could remember having. A few minutes later, he felt a cold cloth press against his head. He fought to open his eyes and saw Aunt Petunia move away from the compress she handed him to quickly clean up his vomit.

"Get back in bed, Harry," she said in a low tone, just above a whisper. "Don't bother getting up tomorrow. I know you'll be useless."

"What?" It was all he could do to utter that one word.

"This happened to your mum when she was sixteen," Petunia said. It sounded so odd to hear this woman speak so calmly of _his_ mother. "It was a vision, wasn't it? That's what that horrid witch McGonagall called it."

Harry nodded. "I watched a woman die," he said.

"Anyone you know?"

"No. She wasn't very nice either, but she…she didn't deserve to die."

Petunia said nothing, but helped him stumble back to his head. To his utter shock, she adjusted the cloth back on his forehead. "I hate magic," she said dully. "Nothing good ever comes of it. I know what Lily did to me—it was in Dumbledore's letter. If we were cruel to you, Harry, remember that we had good reason."

More shocking than her words, though, was Harry's own. "I know," he admitted. "And I'm sorry. You didn't deserve to be stuck with me either."

Petunia nodded. "No, we didn't. Lily could be cruel sometimes. But then so could I; we never got along well, most especially when that Severus boy started hanging around. I know none of this is your fault, Harry. We were not good guardians to you, and that won't change. I just can't make myself like you—I know you represent the death of those children I so desperately wanted but could never have. I think it best for all that when you turn seventeen, you leave and not return."

"Yes, Aunt Petunia." She said absolutely nothing he had not heard before; nothing he did not know with absolutely certainty. And yet her words hurt him worse that the spike in his brain the vision caused. Tears washed blood from his face and he wiped them away with his hand, staring at the watery red on his palm.

Petunia said nothing more before standing and leaving the room. When she was gone, Harry balled his fists to his eyes, pulled his knees up, and ground his teeth in a low, guttural cry.

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

Harry couldn't help but grin when he opened the door of Number Four Privet Drive and found Neville Longbottom on the doorstep on the second day of August, just two days after their respective birthdays and a week after his horrid vision.

"Hey, mate," Neville said, returning the grin. "You ready?"

"Yeah." Harry said. He grabbed his trunk and Hedwig's cage and without a word to the occupants of the house left and closed the door behind him. Neville glimpsed inside to see a thin, rather homely woman silhouetted against a back window, hugging herself tightly.

The two boys walked down the side walk toward the Bentley idling at the curb. "I didn't know your Gran had a car," Harry said admiringly.

"She doesn't. This is Uncle Algie's. He works with the Muggle government sometimes so he has one. Come on in."

The two boys piled into the car, and in so doing entered a space five times larger than the exterior of the vehicle. More surprising, though, was that there was no driver. "The Burrow, Ottery St. Catchpole."

The car started driving on its own, and outside the countryside literally began to blur. "Uncle Algie has the car charmed like the Knight Bus," Neville said. "Won't take but minute. So how's summer been?"

"Boring as always," Harry said. "Uncle Vernon won't let me do any real studying, but I got all of my Muggle Studies work done. Biology was the worst."

"Oh, I don't know, I think Chemistry was. And Geometry." Neville chuckled. "So, did anything…you know, happen? Any visions or anything?"

"I had a vision of Dudley stealing a neighbour's bike and blaming it on me," Harry admitted, purposely leaving out his worst vision. "Got a nosebleed for it. But I borrowed his video camera he never uses and caught him stealing on tape, then accidently left it at the neighbour's house. I might have accidently written a note on it telling the people to watch the video."

"What happened?"

Harry snickered. "Got locked into my room without food for three days."

Neville stared, lips parted in surprise. "No food for three days? Harry, that's not funny!"

Harry shrugged. "I had snacks in my trunk, and I'd sneak out after dark and raid the fridge. It was totally worth it, though. The bobbies brought Dudley to the house right in front of all the neighbours and gave him a final warning after they found a whole bunch of other stolen stuff at his gang's hideout. One more, and they'll bring him up on charges. I thought Uncle Vernon was going to have a stroke right there! Definitely worth it."

Neville shook his head. "Harry, it's still not right."

Harry's smile dimmed. "Yeah, I know, Neville. But it could be worse. He doesn't hit me any more, not since McGonagall came and scared the living hell out Aunt Petunia. Brilliant, that was. So, enough about me. What'd you do this summer?"

"We spent most of the summer in Spain," Neville said. "Gran says the heat is good for her fire gout. It was nice, I suppose. There's a nest of Merpeople near Santa Margarita. I couldn't understand them at all, but I bet you could have."

"Sounds fun," Harry said, smiling to cover a little touch of envy. He'd never even left the country before, or even the London metropolitan area, for that matter, before going to Hogwarts.

He looked outside and saw the countryside blurring outside the window. The car was nothing like what he'd heard about the Knight Bus in class. For one thing, neither boy was thrown violently about the interior of the car. For another, the car didn't flit about right at other Muggle objects in a seemingly suicidal dance. Instead, the car just blurred through the countryside until with grind of gravel under the tires they came to a stop on the edge of a rough country estate. In the distance, the two boys could see a slightly lopsided house with the tips of orchard trees behind it.

Over the whole, Harry could see a glimmer of rainbow magic—Muggle repelling charms, Unplottable charms, protective wards and other protections all anchored in buried ward stones along the edge of the property. "Wasn't Ron supposed to be waiting for us at the gate?" Harry wondered.

Neville grimaced. "We're supposed to fetch him," Neville said. "Brace yourself—Ron's little sister was telling the whole school last year that she was going to bond you."

"Right. She and half the other girls in the school. I just don't get it, Neville."

"Well, hard not to be a big fish in such a small pond," Neville said. "Think about it, thirteen boys, twenty-seven girls. And the third years are even worse. You could be the skinniest, ugliest git in the world, and it won't matter, you'd still have someone interested in you."

"You mean like Ginny Weasley?"

Neville laughed. "Exactly! Come on let's go see how bad she has it for you."

The two boys climbed out of the car and made their way up the dirt path to the lopsided house. Before they even reached the porch, they heard a girlish voice scream, "Mum, he's here! He's here!"

"Merlin help me," Harry said, stopping mid-stride.

The door flew open and a wide bodied woman with curling reddish hair bustled out clad in an apron overlaying a garishly yellow sunflower dress. "Why, it's Harry Potter!" the witch said in a loud, grating voice. Then, to Harry's utter shock and dismay, the woman grabbed him and started to pull him into a hug.

Blind panic spilled into a burst of accidental magic, and Mrs Weasley stumbled away in surprise. Neville very quickly said, "Hello, Dame Molly! Dame Augusta wanted me to say hello. How are you?"

Molly Weasley looked from the perfectly still, tense and pale Harry Potter to an overly eager Neville Longbottom. Before she could respond, the door opened and Ron came out. He took one look at Harry, then Neville, and then where his mother sprawled awkwardly on the steps. "Mum, you didn't try to hug him did you?" he asked. "I told you!"

Ron stepped down to Harry and said, "You alright, mate?"

"Er, yeah, fine, Ron," Harry said. "Dame Molly, are you alright?"

Mrs Weasley stood and brushed herself off. "Quite alright, Harry, quite so. My apologies. I do tend to hug first and ask questions later. So, perhaps we can do this again. Molly Weasley, how do you do?"

She did not offer her hand, of course. Purebloods were not supposed do that, and usually for good reason. Instead, Harry gave a respectful bow as to someone of Dame Molly's political rank, even if the family finances did not quite add up to the title. The Weasleys were rich with children, which gave them a certain political pull and helped Molly, the surviving wife of Arthur Weasley, rise to be the dame of the Weasley coven. First formed by Arthur's great, great, great grandfather in the 1700s when he was able to bond with four witches, the Coven had managed to survive through marriage and the unusual fecundity of its members.

On the other hand, with seven children between Molly and her recently passed sister wife Adeena, Arthur's respectable salary as a department head was stretched thinner than most. However, his three oldest were now graduated from Hogwarts with Percy's graduation the previous year, leaving only his four youngest—Fred, Georgina, Ron and Ginevra.

"It is an honour, Dame Molly," Harry said. "And I am sorry, you just…surprised me."

"More like terrified," Molly said with a gentle smile, "and no doubt I'd do no better in your shoes. Well, come in then for a cuppa, and then you'll be on your way. Ron, you told them right?"

"Sure, mum. We'll be right on in."

With a final nod, Molly turned and walked back into the house. When she was gone, Ron looked nervously over his shoulder at the house before edging closer to his dorm mates. "Right, listen up, we have to take Ginny."

Harry felt a moment of panic again. "What?"

"Ron, I only invited you," Neville said, upset but too polite to say anything else.

"I _know!_" Ron whined. "It ruddy well wasn't my idea, I'll tell you that much. Mum just got it in her mind that Ginny should come since we were shopping for school supplies. I'm sorry, I really am, but you just can't say no to Mum."

"What about the twins?"

"They already did their shopping," Ron said darkly. "Traitors."

"This is a bad idea, Ron," Neville said.

Ron started to open his mouth, but Neville continued and said, "But I also know what it's like when a coven Dame wants something. So let's just get it done."

"I'm sorry, guys," Ron said dejectedly.

Harry smiled wanly. "No worries, mate. It'll be okay. Like Nev said."

Five minutes into tea, Harry wished to eat his words. Ginny spent the entire time staring at him with wide, soulful brown eyes, and he could see her magic boiling right behind them, eager to latch out at the first sign of affection. It was as if she had been practicing to ready her magic for such a thing, or perhaps been solidly coached.

For her part, Molly sat at the table in their crowded, low-ceilinged home talking amiably with Neville about his Gran while sneaking surreptitious glances at her daughter and Harry. It was finally Neville who said, "Dame Molly, thank you ever so much for the tea, but I'm afraid we must be on our way if we're to finish by the time Gran set."

"Of course, of course!" Molly said. "Thank you so much for taking Ginevra along. She's grown up so much, why just last week we had to get her adult bras!"

"Muuuum!" Ginny whined.

It was such a completely, obviously rehearsed interaction that Harry suddenly found himself relaxing for the first time. Yes, Molly wanted her daughter to bond Harry and was being completely underhanded about it, but they were also being so bitingly obvious in their underhandedness that he realized there was no chance of a sneak attack from either of them.

Ron looked as if he were about to be sick, but Neville put on his young pureblood face and said, "How charming! She is quite lovely. Well, are we ready, all?"

"Quite right!" Dame Molly said, suddenly bursting into motion again as she ushered them toward the door. "Ginny, Ron, just get the essentials. I already have your robes and sundries. Books, Ginny your Pre-potions kit, Ron your full potions kit, plus quills and parchments."

"We know, Mum," Ginny said, at least this time without a whine.

Soon enough, Molly had them out of the house and the three boys and one girl started down the long dirt path to the patiently waiting car. "I'm sorry 'bout that, guys," Ginny suddenly said. "I know you didn't want me to come. I already had a day planned with Julie Parkes, but when Dame Augusta Flooed to invite Ron, Mum just got it in her head this would be a perfect chance for me to butter up Harry."

Harry stared at her, genuinely surprised. Neville raised a brow. "And you don't want to anymore?"

"Oh no, I do!" Ginny said energetically, while ginning at Harry. "I just don't want to play games about it like Mum does. I really like you, Harry, and when you're ready I would love to bond with you."

Her honesty was almost as frightening as her intensity. "Er, well, thank you, I suppose," Harry said. "I'm not really interested in that at the moment, though. Maybe when I'm older."

"Okay," Ginny said easily enough. "Just think of it this way—if you bond with me, then you won't have to worry about anyone else poaching you. After all, a wizard can only be poached once."

"Actually, Ginny, I'm pretty sure my Occlumency is strong enough that I won't be poached at all," Harry said.

She looked at him, cheeks flushing, and said, "Do you want to test that?"

"Ginny, cut it out!" Ron said.

Ginny rolled her eyes. Then, with a last grin at Harry she said, "Wanna see my bra?"

"Ginny!" Ron shouted.

Chuckling, Ginny climbed into the car. "This is going to be a disaster," Harry muttered.

"With Ginny, it always is," Ron agreed.

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

Harry did not like Goblins, and the Goblins did not appear to like him. It was a matter of human courtesies that the Goblins never bothered to emulate. There were no expressions of "Thank you" or "Your welcome" in Gringotts. Rather, there were ugly little creatures snarling "What do you want?"

Interestingly enough, the witches and wizards in the bank took it in stride, but most likely because they could not understand what the goblins were really saying. After the last year with Professor Kettleburn and Professor Flitwick, Harry understood enough about his magical linguistic skills to know what he was hearing was not English, but was in fact Gobbledygook, the language of the Goblins. It was a harsh, guttural sound that humans would not have been able to duplicate easily, and it was a language couched in violence.

"_I spit at your mother's womb you foul, stinking whore to goats_," the teller in Harry's line said to the witch in front of him. She did not appear to understand and merely took her money bag. When the wizard in front of Harry stepped up, the same Goblin continued, "_And this one is one of the goats._ What do you want, Wizard?"

The last was in heavily accented English. The wizard said, "Fifty gallon withdrawal, here is my vault key."

The goblin waved the key over a ward stone, confirmed the wizard's identity, and then reached into a drawer below to remove a small leather satchel. "A five sickle fee has been deducted. _Go away now and fuck your mother's arse with a spade._"

Harry tried not to snicker.

"_Great, a stupid, ignorant, stinking human brat with shit on his arse and his brains._ What do you want, wizard?"

"I want a hundred galleons," Harry said. "Here's my vault key."

The goblin took the key and waved it over the stone. His heavy brows drew together over black, beady eyes, "_Bandysnatcher, this is the Potter boy_," he said to a fellow teller. "_Should I mention the Black estate?"_

"_Why bother?_" the other teller said while ignoring an impatient-seeming witch before him. _"If the boy never finds out, the vault will escheat to Gringotts._"

"_I know about the Black vaults,"_ Harry said. _Now_ he did, at least.

The goblins turned and stared, as did the witch in the line beside him, the two wizards behind her, and the people in line behind him. Harry rolled his eyes. "Magical omniglot. The Prophet made a whole circus over it last year when they first thought I was a Parselmouth, remember?"

The goblins did not look pleased at all; but then again he'd been listening to them insult every patron. "You are under age," the goblin before Harry said. "You cannot claim an inheritance under human law."

"I am a guest of Dame Augusta Longbottom," Harry said. "I'm sure she'll be able to suggest steps to take."

It was a test. Harry didn't really like name-dropping; it made him feel like a Malfoy. However, it was Ron's and Neville's belief that Neville's Gran scared everyone. The way the goblins reacted, Harry began to think his friends were right. The scowling increased exponentially. "Fine. There are your hundred galleons. Now come with me. Line closed!" the Goblin shouted.

"Bloody hell, second time today," the wizard behind Harry said.

"Sorry," Harry said as he pocketed his money pouch.

"No worries, Mr Potter. I'm used to it," the wizard said with a wan smile. "So if you can understand them, can you tell me what they're really saying?"

"Not in polite company, sir," Harry said, before scampering off after the goblin.

The waddling creature opened a door allowing Harry behind the teller desks and led him to a wide, low-ceilinged hall of dark, ornately carved and stained oak panelling. There were no portraits, instead the wood was carved with intricate reliefs of goblins raiding a human village and viciously killing and beheading the males and…doing vile things to the women.

Harry looked away and concentrated on the goblin in front of him. They stopped at the only door in the hall. The goblin did not knock but instead walked right in. Within was another room at least as large as the grand entry-way. Harry saw with relief that he was not the only wizard in the room. In fact the hall was lined with human security guards in very Muggle-like uniforms, but with wands instead of fire arms. There were a series of ten desks in two rows of five, and four of them had witches or wizards sitting at them speaking to goblins on the other side.

"Wait to be called," the goblin said.

Harry nodded and said nothing else. From what he had heard and seen, Goblins despised receiving human courtesy as much as having to give it. "Potter!" a goblin in the back row called.

The other witches and wizards in the room turned to stare openly as Harry made his way across the floor to the desk of the waiting goblin. "Sit," the Goblin said.

Harry sat. The goblin grabbed a shimmering yellow ward stone and slammed it on his desk. Instantly a cone of yellow magic rose up around them. "We may now speak in private," the Goblin said. "You are underage, you may not directly claim an inheritance until you are seventeen or bonded and married with a witch. These are the laws of your Ministry. You do not have a magical guardian appointed to oversee your affairs."

"Could I appoint one?" Harry asked.

"It is permissible."

"What about Remus Lupin?"

The goblin reached for and touched another ward stone. "Remus Lupin," he said into the stone. A moment later, a sheet of parchment appeared on the goblin's desk. "Unacceptable. He is a werewolf and not permitted to serve as a guardian for a minor in any capacity."

"Headmaster Dumbledore?" he asked.

"The Chief Warlock, Headmaster and Supreme Mugwump does not have time to act as a guardian," the goblin said. "You keep naming wizards. Would you not want a witch to oversee your finances as is traditional?"

Truth was, the only woman Harry would have wanted was Charity Burbage, and she was gone. He racked his brain trying to think of someone he could appoint, but when the answer came he seriously questioned his own sanity. Hesitantly, he said, "Professor Severus Snape?"

The goblin called up a one-sheet for Snape before nodding. "He is a wizard of age appropriately bonded to two witches by order of the Sabbat. However, he has a child now. Why would he wish to help you?"

"I don't know," Harry admitted. "Could we ask?"

The Goblin shrugged, took another piece of paper and wrote a quick note on it before folding it into the shape of a paper airplane. He stamped it with another ward stone, and then threw it into the air. It disappeared silently.

They waited in tense, uncomfortable silence for almost twenty minutes before Severus Snape appeared with a twirl of black robes clutching the paper airplane. He took one look at the goblin, then at Potter, and finally rolled his eyes. "For Merlin's sake, you stupid child, what are you thinking?"

"I heard the goblins say the Black Estate would escheat to them and that didn't seem right."

The goblin shifted in his seat and muttered in Gobbledygook about foolish youngsters keeping their jaws clamped. Snape sat down in the seat next to Harry. "Potter, you are well aware of the fact that I do not like you. Could you not think of anyone else? Dame Augusta, perhaps?"

"I…was hoping I could have a wizard as my magical guardian," Harry admitted.

Snape frowned thoughtfully. "And worst of all, I can actually understand that."

He wiped a hand over his face and with his doing so Harry realized the man looked exhausted. "How is your baby?"

"Loud and smelly," Snape said, unable to hide a touch of pride. "Eileen Aurora Snape. Unfortunately, like her mother she prefers to sleep during the day rather than at night. Goblin, we are discussing that mongrel Black's estate, correct?"

"Correct."

The potions master considered Harry closely for a moment before nodding. "I will accept the position of your magical guardian on one condition. I watched Longbottom in pre-potions last year with great trepidation. He is totally unsuited to potions and if I had my way, he would not be taught. We begin true brewing this year, and he will be a danger to everyone. You will partner with him and keep his destructive tendencies under control, do you understand?"

"Yes, sir."

Snape nodded. "Fine, give me the forms, goblin."

The goblin did so. Snape looked through and then scowled. "This provision is not Ministry standard."

"So what?" the goblin sneered.

"So I won't have my personal vaults held liable to Gringotts for Potter debts." He took his wand and cross the portion of the form out. When he finished, the whole paragraph disappeared and the form automatically renumbered itself. "And this provision is ridiculous. Do you honestly think I'm going to let you claim Potter's oldest girl child as payment for services rendered?"

"We have a right to propagate our race," the goblin snarled.

"Not with Potter spawn," Snape snapped back, crossing that paragraph out too. He continued reading the contract carefully. Finally, he pressed his wand to the form and his name appeared. "There are the guardian forms and the claimant forms. Have the contents of the Black vault moved to the Potter family vault minus the fifty galleon services fee and my five per cent stipend as guardian. My fee you can put into the Hogwarts scholarship fund."

"House Black owns five real properties," the goblin finally said. "A house in London, another in Cambridge, a cottage in Majorca and two in the Virgin Islands previously used by slave traders."

"Have the deeds transferred and any legitimate taxes owed deducted from the Black portion of the Potter vault," Snape ordered. "And make damned sure the accounting of those taxes matches that of the Ministry or Gringotts will be held liable for the difference plus penalties."

"I know the law, wizard," the Goblin growled.

"Knowing the law and following it are not the same, goblin," Snape snapped back. "Are we done then?"

"We are done. Get out."

Snape stood, grabbed Harry's arm painfully, and pulled the boy back out into the main hall of the bank. "What a combination of smart and stupid," Snape muttered.

"Sir?"

"It was smart to claim your inheritance. Goblins steal unclaimed estates after five years. But it was utter idiocy to ask for me, and even greater idiocy for me to agree. Blast Albus for making me accept. You had better not start expecting me to wipe your arse and tuck you in at night, Potter."

"No, sir!" Harry said. "Er, and thank you, professor ... For your help."

Snape rolled eyes. "Get your school supplies and go back to whatever hole you're staying in, Potter. And remember—you're partnered with Longbottom all year."

With that, Snape spun and Disapparated away. Harry walked out of the bank to find Ron, Neville and Ginny waiting impatiently for him. "What took so long?" Ron asked.

"Sorry, had some unexpected business," Harry said. "Let's go shopping. I think it's going to be a long year."

* * *

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**Author's Note**: Very special thanks as always to Teufel1987, JR and Miles for beta reading.


	25. The Tournament

Chap 24 review responses are available in my forums as always.

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**Chapter Twenty-Five: The Tournament**

Harry watched by Neville's side as the First Years were gathered up by the Head Girl on the platform. This year it was a Hufflepuff Harry didn't know. Just as with the three previous years, there was no Head Boy. The proportion of boys to girls in this latest group was about the same as the previous year, which was better than the Third Years but not by much. This year's group had eighteen boys to thirty-nine girls, while the second year group had 16 boys to thirty-eight girls. The Third years that entered Hogwarts the year after Harry's year had more students, but less boys, with only 12 boys out of a class of 56.

A sixth year Gryffindor girl with long dark hair and piercing blue eyes sidled up him as he was watching the younger students and took his arm. "Hello, Harry," she said, speaking softly almost into his ear.

He jumped away in surprise, bumping into Neville. "What the…?" Neville looked up and saw the witch stifling a laugh, then looked at Harry. "Merlin, Harry, stop doing that, will you?"

"Sorry, Nev," Harry said. To the sixth year, he said, "Hello, Belinda."

Belinda offered a hand to help him up, but Neville grabbed his shoulders and pulled him up without the need. Scowling a little at the Longbottom heir, she said, "How was your summer, Harry?"

"Fine," he said. "And yours?"

"Oh, it was wonderful. We went to America and spent time on the beaches in Florida in a magical area that kept out the Muggles. I have the most fascinating tan lines!"

If not for the recent performance from Ginny and Molly, Harry would have stumbled over that very intentional revelation. Instead, he let his cheeks burn a bit but only said, "That sounds nice."

"It is. Now that you're a fourth year, you can sit wherever you want. If you'd like, you can sit with me and I'll show you some of those lines."

"Er, no thanks," Harry said.

"Well, time to board!" Neville said. "Look, there's Ron!"

"Hi, Harry!" Ginny said from behind Ron, while behind her came the twins, now both sixth years. The sight of Ginny made Harry a little nervous, but then he saw how Belinda responded, not just frowning but scowling furiously at the young interloper, he actually felt a little relief at this more familiar threat.

"Hello Ron, Ginny, Fred, Georgina," he said, clinging for a lifeline.

Ginny at least didn't try to hug him, having seen his response to her mother, but she still grinned brilliantly at him, scowled as angrily at Belinda as Belinda scowled at her, and then waved. "Well, I've got to go join the third years. See you at the sorting!"

When she was gone, Belinda said, "Watch out for red-heads, Harry. They're trouble—shouldn't be allowed in Hogwarts at all."

"So are two-bit slags," Georgina said loudly. "But they let you in, so what can we do? Hugs and kisses, Bel dear?"

"Or for me?" Fred said. "I do so remember last year. Want a repeat, love?"

Belinda's blush turned ruddy. "Fuck you both, you bloody freaks." With that she stomped away angrily.

"What was that about?" Harry asked.

"She thought she could bond Fred, stupid bint," Georgina said with a happy laugh. "Tried the tan line trick on him."

"What'd you do?"

"Shagged her rotten, of course," Fred said proudly. "Those tan lines are something."

"And I got it on the Omnioculars. Two Galleons if you want to watch."

"Merlin, you two are such perverts," Ron groaned.

"What about Angelina?" Harry asked, blinking in surprise.

Fred shrugged. "She was our first customer to watch. Between us, she's better."

"No tan lines at all," Georgina whispered with a wink.

Harry had to admit that Georgina had grown into herself. When he first met her, she was a rather gangly, even ugly girl of thirteen. Now sixteen, Georgina's body had grown into her face, and her face had grown out of her acne. She also was blessed with what she called the Prewitt Breasts, a blessing that evidently missed their older sister Charlene entirely and made the younger siblings nervous it wouldn't happen.

She was otherwise quite thin, and already had the type of figure that caught the attention of those around her. She would never be beautiful, but she was rather striking. Unfortunately, she was still just as violent, as witnessed by the punch she threw at Ron's shoulder. "So when are the birds going to start fluttering around you, Ronniekins?"

"When he learns to eat like a human being and not like a crup," Fred said, laughing.

Angelina arrived with Katie in tow. However, the girls looked like they had been arguing, and neither looked happy. "'Allo, love," Fred said. "What's with the long face, then?"

Angelina greeted Fred with a soul-searing kiss that made Harry blink and wipe his glasses. When she parted, she said, "Alicia isn't coming back."

"What?" Harry asked, stunned. "What do you mean?"

Katie rubbed the back of her neck. "Her mum found her a wizard willing to take her on as a first wife. She didn't want to risk losing the chance, so she bonded and married, and they went off to Brazil."

"Brazil?" Georgina said. "Stupid bint. What does Brazil have that we don't?"

"A wizard willing to marry Alicia first," Angelina said darkly. "We're going to have to fill her spot, and I don't like the idea of trying to break in a new Chaser."

"It'll be okay, Angelina," Harry said. "Besides, we need a new Keeper too, and you know you're a shoe-in for captain. So, just hold try-outs like Oliver did."

"Well, I am going to be captain, McGonagall told me so last year," Angelina said, smiling for the first time. "I appreciate the support, though. So, you boys are fourth years now, right?"

"Right," Fred said. "Belinda's already tried to show Harry her tan-lines."

"Cow," Angelina snorted. "Besides, it's more impressive when you _don't_ have them."

"That's what I said," Georgina said. "You're hot, Angie. If you ever get tired of Fred, I'll take you."

"I thought you were dating Lee."

"Do you think he'd object?" Georgina asked. "Be like a chocolate and strawberry sandwich. Sounds like fun to me."

"You guys are pervs," Ron said.

"That's only because we don't let you watch," Fred said.

"For less than two galleons," Georgina added.

"No, he's right, you two are pervs," Angelina said. "Too bad for me you're cute pervs. Anyway, you boys want to sit with us?" she said to Harry.

"Might be safer," Neville admitted.

"Come on, then."

Several times during the ride, girls from various houses stopped by and invited Harry to sit with them. Two times they invited Neville to come as well. "Just wait until next year," Katie promised. "I know a lot of the girls are waiting until you guys are fifteen. They won't just be asking, they'll be trying to out-right ambush you. The girls like Belinda, though—they must be pretty desperate if they're not even willing to wait until your fifteen."

"Like Angelina my first year," Harry said.

Angelina had the grace to blush. "I didn't know how things were supposed to work yet. Muggleborn, remember? And Katie's right, next year's going to be a challenge for you boys."

"Thanks for the warning," Ron muttered.

"Oh, don't worry, Ron, you're pretty safe," Georgina said. "At least until every other bloke in school is taken. Then you'll have to worry a bit."

Harry couldn't help but laugh, but covered it with a cough. "I'm sure they'll be girls after you too, Ron," Harry said.

"Actually, Ginny said Lavender mentioned thinking you're cute," Neville volunteered cheerfully. "And Lilith Moon."

"Moon?" Georgina said. "She's the cute one with brown hair and freckles, right?"

"No, that's the half-blood, Jessica Rivers. Lilith is pureblood—white-blond hair and a bit of an overbite," Neville said.

"And which one is Lavender Brown?" Fred said with a nod.

"The one with the nice baps," Georgina said.

"Oh, that one. Yes, very nice," Fred agreed.

Ron blushed brilliantly. "Hadn't noticed."

Neville snorted. Harry laughed, and shook his head, before looking out the window of the train. It was going to be an interesting year. He just had no idea how interesting it would be.

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

The First Years finished their sorting to the applause of the rest of the students. Like his very first year, Harry could see where each one was going to be sorted, but didn't really feel the need to say unless someone asked. He stopped predicting the sorting his third year, having missed his second year sorting because of the Lovegood situation.

Thinking of her made him look; he thought he saw her long, straggly blonde hair at the Ravenclaw table, but the third year girls were sitting with their backs to the Gryffindors. He turned his attention back to the head table, completely missing Luna turning to look in his direction.

"Welcome once again to yet another year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!" the headmaster began from the crowded staff table. Harry only really knew half the teachers there—like all the other students, he had only those professors specifically assigned to his year, and those teachers would follow his year to the end.

Dumbledore seemed to beam at the students. "Every year brings excitement and opportunity, but I am truly excited about this year. First, though, I must share some bad news. There will be no inter-house Quidditch this year."

Harry felt as if he'd been punched in the gut. Up the table with the Sixth Years, Angelina actually shouted, "What?"

Fortunately, she wasn't alone as Quidditch players and fans around the room protested.

Dumbledore held up both hands until they fell silent. "Now, now, all is not without hope," he said. "You must understand _why_ there will be no Quidditch Cup this year. The reason, you see, is that for the first time since, well, before the last war, the International Confederation of Wizards has invited Hogwarts back on a trial basis to the Junior Quidditch League. The ICW has declared this year a true world junior Quidditch championship. Hogwarts will field its best players against the seven other ICW-aligned schools of magic across the world, to play in a tournament to determine which school will hold the Junior World Quidditch Cup!"

Sheer pandemonium ruled as students started shouting excitedly. When at last the turmoil eased to passable levels, the headmaster continued to speak. "By the unanimous agreement of all the staff, we have elected Cedric Diggory as the captain of the Hogwarts Team. Mr Diggory will be holding team try-outs in two weeks since the tournament schedule is quite demanding. He is charged with picking the best players in the school, and we have no doubt he will do a great job."

Harry listened with a sinking heart. Cedric was a Seeker; if he was captain that meant that they would not need a Seeker on the team. He looked up the table and saw Angelina wiping a tear from her cheek. She saw his concerned look and smiled weakly—there went her first year as Gryffindor's captain as well.

An interesting year indeed.

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

Harry grinned when he walked into his first Monday morning class to see Remus Lupin leaning against the desk. Lupin nodded casually to Harry while the rest of the fourth year boys walked into the class room. At last some things were going right.

Herbology followed DADA and Professor Sprout was as cheerful as always as she outlined their class plan for the first term. After that came double charms, one of his favourite subjects.

The next two classes were odd for him personally because of who taught them. Harry knew that the lovely Aurora Sinistra was Snape's youngest wife and the mother of his first-born child, and that Snape was now his magical guardian, so he could not help but feel some small connection to the woman. But on the other hand, she showed absolutely no sign of that connection, and only acknowledged him in the course of the class itself as a student. Since she chose not to make an issue of it, he felt he had no choice but to do the same.

Professor Hooch, however, had no such compunction. After class was dismissed, she said, "Potter, a moment."

Harry lingered behind while the others left. "I understand you asked for Professor Snape to act as your magical guardian this summer. May I ask why?"

_Because all my other choices were unavailable, _he thought. Aloud, though, he said, "He knew my mother."

"He did indeed," Hooch said. "Had a rather bitter falling out with her as well."

"I know, Professor."

Hooch studied the young man. "Lily did not put much store in the traditions of wizarding society. It made her some enemies. But there was no question she was a powerful and intelligent witch. Just remember—guardians are traditionally witches, almost in all cases. While you won't see it splashed about in the papers, it is unusual enough that you asked for Professor Snape that it has been discussed by the covens. Trust me, Potter, that is attention you don't need, and neither does Professor Snape."

Harry felt his stomach twist a little and struggled to hold down a touch of anger. "Why would the covens care about who I ask to be my guardian?"

"Because they have plans for you, why else?" Hooch snorted. "They have plans for every wizard in this castle. I wouldn't be surprised if they have wagers going on which one of their appointed witches poaches you first."

"That's not right," Harry said.

Hooch smiled without humour. "Right has nothing to do with it. You'll bond like you're supposed to, and you'll be happy enough to do it, trust me. Wizards always are. However, next time you drag my husband into a controversy he does not need with his history, remember that there will be a very uncomfortable conversation to follow, do you understand?"

"I understand."

"Good. Off with you, then."

Harry stifled his resentment as he rushed out of the room and down the hall to Muggle Studies. Professor Geneva Pax, the woman who replaced Charity Burbage, had already begun her welcoming speech. "Mr Potter, you're late," she noted at his appearance.

"Sorry, Professor Hooch held me after to discuss something," he said.

"Then I'll let you go with a warning this time. Take your seat, please." He took his seat, his irritated mood growing even worse. "Now, as I was saying before I was interrupted, this is your final year of mandatory Muggle Studies. The first term will finalize your core Muggle subjects, while second term we will begin the actual General Certificate of Secondary Education exams and papers. These exams and papers are very important because they allow Hogwarts to receive Muggle funds to offset the expense of maintaining a castle this size for such a small student body, and to also keep tuition costs low. You will take this class, and you WILL do well, or you will be not be allowed to sit your O.W.L.s. No, not even you, Mr Malfoy…."

Harry tuned the woman's high-pitched voice out and stared angrily at the chalkboard. _What was it anyone's business who he asked to be his guardian, much less a room full of nosy, bitter old crones?_

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

"Potter!"

Harry turned around to see Cedric Diggory walking toward him. Cedric was a handsome boy, with almond-coloured hair and eyes, a strong chin and high cheekbones. He had a virtual army of witches following him everywhere he went, and smiled anyway.

This time, though, the witches were gone and it was just Diggory who walked toward him from the Great Hall where they just finished eating dinner. It was Thursday of their first week of classes.

"What can I do for you, Captain?" Harry asked.

Cedric stopped mid-step, then grinned abruptly. "'Captain'. Has a ring to it, doesn't it? Actually, that's what I wanted to talk to you about. Have a minute?"

"Sure."

The two made their way to an unused class midway between the Great Hall and the Hufflepuff tower. When they were alone and Cedric charmed the door shut and threw up some mild repelling charms, he said, "You remember your first year playing?"

"Yeah, you were a third year, right?"

"Right. Do you remember what position I played?"

"No, not really."

"Keeper," Cedric said. "I played Keeper for two years before I switched over to Seeker because we had had another decent Keeper in Shelters, and we had no Seeker worth a damm. I can play both positions pretty well, but Keeping has always been my strength. I plan to play Keeper on the Hogwarts team. I'd like you to try out for Seeker."

"Really?" Harry said, all irritation and anger from the past week melting before excitement. "I mean, are you sure?"

"Harry, I played against you twice last year and you left me in the straw both times; I'm sure. Now, here's another question. I heard from McGonagall that Johnson was up for the Gryffindor captaincy this year. Thing she'd be willing to play for me?"

"If you take Katie Bell too," Harry said.

"I was planning to. Shame about Alicia, it would have been good to have the whole team, but there's a Ravenclaw I'm recruiting to step in—I think she'd be a good match."

"What about the twins?"

Cedric shook his head. "They're brilliant, but erratic. I've seen Georgina take pot shots at her own brother just to get his goat in the middle of a game, and we can't afford that in our starters. No, I'm actually thinking about the Slytherins. They're good beaters, vicious as hell, and let's face it—Gregoria Goyle is just ugly enough to make the other team afraid."

Harry could not disagree. "I'd love to try out, Cedric."

"Great, good news. Try outs are next Saturday morning, but truth is I already know who I want starting. The try outs will mainly be for the reservists. Be at the pitch Saturday after next, eight sharp."

"Yes, sir!" Harry said.

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

_The girl sits in the hall with her knees pulled up under her chin, shivering in the cold drafts of the castle in her thin sleeping shift as the darkness pushed in on her. Magical walls shimmer, but the magic brings no comfort against the darkness that hates her so badly._

_She looks straight at him, tears rolling down her pale round cheeks. "Please help me," she whispers._

Harry sat up with a gasp as a sudden, sharp spike of pain drove into his brain. He tasted blood and held his fingers to his lips to feel blood there. It was a vision, then, though not nearly as bad as the one from this summer. Groggily, he looked at his clock and saw it was past two in the morning. Fortunately it was Friday—well, Saturday now—so he didn't have classes that morning.

He made his way down to the common room and then down the narrow hall to McGonagall's office. He knocked before stepping back so the wards could more easily identify him. A few minutes later McGonagall opened the door in a night robe wrapped tightly around her gown, her hair hanging loose about her shoulders.

"Potter! What…are you bleeding?"

"Yeah, sorry, Professor. I had a vision. I think Luna Lovegood's been locked out of her tower and she's pretty upset. I'd go help her myself but…"

"You most certainly will not!" McGonagall snapped. Then, more calmly, "Are you sure about this, Mr Potter?"

"Nosebleed and a headache, I'm pretty sure. She talked to me in the vision and asked for help."

With a sigh, McGonagall stepped back into her office, before returning moments later in her day robe and had. "The portraits have confirmed Ms Lovegood was the subject of a rather cruel prank. Go back to bed, Mr Potter, I'll take care of it."

"Okay, thank you, Professor."

Back in his room a few minutes later, he pulled out his father's map and watched McGonagall's footsteps meet up with Professor Flitwick's. Harry noted with a smile that Flitwick's feet were half the size as McGonagall's. The two walked side by side toward where Luna was waiting. As he watched, Luna suddenly spun around in a circle, like she used to the previous year, and for some reason Harry was absolutely sure she was thanking him.

"You're welcome, Luna," Harry said with a smile.

* * *

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**Author's Note**: Very special thanks as always to Teufel1987, JR and Miles for beta reading.


	26. The Hogwarts Dragons

A/N: Thank you for the reviews. Responses are available in my forums.

* * *

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**Chapter Twenty-Six: The Hogwarts Dragons**

"I'm not sure about this, Harry," Angelina said as Harry and Katie all but dragged her to the Quidditch Pitch.

"Angelina, you and Katie are the best Chasers in the school," Harry said. "You just have to play, or we don't stand a chance." They arrived to find half the school there already, and players circling the pitch. Cedric was on the ground talking with the lead Ravenclaw Chaser, Stephanie Harlow.

As they arrived, Angelina called up to her, "Did he smooth talk you into trying out, Stephanie?"

Harlow turned and saw Angelina, Katie and Harry coming. "He gave it a pretty good try. Said I might get a chance to play with the Flying Foxes of Gryffindor. Heard about Alicia—too bad, that."

"Yeah, but I'm sure she's happy," Angelina said. "Think of all those beaches in Brazil—and her letter said the bloke was only a year or two older and already working with her to interview a second."

"Great for tan lines, those beaches, right Potter?" Stephanie asked.

Harry felt his cheeks burn. "Has everybody in the ruddy school heard about that?"

"Oh yes," Katie said. "And I'll have you know, Harry, that I have much better tan lines than she does."

"I don't have any at all," Angelina said.

Stephanie grinned. "I don't either, and on a white girl that's even more impressive. Wanna see?"

"Not right now, thank you," Harry said quickly.

The girls laughed, and Cedric chuckled as well. "Right, well, I see our Chasers and our seeker. And here come my Beaters."

Vincent Crabbe was a large, powerfully built young man with a close-shaven head the shape of a lump of mashed potatoes. Standing two inches taller than him with a head of thick, greasy black hair walked Gregoria Goyle. Not only was Gregoria taller than Vincent, she had more facial hair and broader shoulders. She also had the largest breasts of any student in Hogwarts, and the most muscled arms.

"Thanks for coming, you two," Cedric said.

"Slytherin should be represented on the team," Vincent said.

"And in a position that lets us beat others up," Gregoria added with a rather messy grin but a surprisingly soothing contralto voice.

"We're going through with the try-outs for the reserve team," Cedric said, "but I've played against all of you and I think you're the best in your positions, so this is our starting team unless we see some real surprises today. We'll go through the drills with the others before we make the announcement. I should let you know that there are reporters in the stands. This is a big deal with an entire Ministry department organizing everything, so be on your best behavior, okay? Angie, if you're willing, I'd like you to be my second."

Angelina blinked in surprise. "Thought you'd want Stephanie."

"I wasn't slated to be a house team Captain," Harlow said. "And you deserve it, girl. Wood might have called the shots officially, but everyone in Slytherin and Hufflepuff knew you were drawing up half the plays. Go with it, you'll be great."

"Okay," Angelina said, smiling easily. "I'll take the job, if just to keep you on your toes, Diggory."

"Then it's settled. Say hello to the Hogwarts Dragons!"

"Perfect," Harry said, with the rest nodding their agreement. "Absolutely perfect."

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

There were no surprises during the drills, and after they finished an hour of drills, Cedric joined Headmaster Dumbledore on a raised dais in the middle of the Quidditch Pitch while the stands bristled with students and media.

"It has been a most productive session," Professor Dumbledore said, his voice amplified by a charm to cover the whole pitch. "Mr. Diggory, have you made your team selections?"

"I have, Professor, thank you," Cedric said with an ease and comfort before the crowds that made Harry envious. "I have decided for the sake of the team that I will play Keeper, since that is my greatest strength. For my Chasers, I am proud to announce that we will have two Gryffindors and a Ravenclaw starting—Angelina Johnson and Katie Bell have demonstrated for the past three years that they are some of the finest Chasers Hogwarts has ever produced, and joining them from Ravenclaw is Stephanie Harlow, the 'Claw's best flier. For Beaters, I have selected the Slytherin Destroyers, Vincent Crabbe and Gregoria Goyle. And finally, for Seeker I selected the most successful Seeker currently playing at Hogwarts—Harry Potter."

As Cedric called each player's name, Madam Hooch ushered them onto the stage with their brooms. Harry as the last concentrated mainly on not falling or making a fool of himself as he walked up the steps onto the stage. "These are the starting players of the Hogwarts Dragons!" Cedric said.

Their Quidditch uniforms switched to a dark blue and gold with the Hogwarts crest of all four houses on their left breast.

"Since we are going up against some very good teams," Cedric continued, "we recognize the need for a strong reserve squad. For the reserves, Derrick Boyle of Slytherin will play Keeper. Our Chasers will be Cheryl Hastings from Hufflepuff, and Stephanie's partners from Ravenclaw, Donna Chamberlain and Terri Boot. The Beater reserves will be Fred and Georgina Weasley, while our reserve Seeker will be Cho Chang. Give a big hand for the team, people!"

The reserves climbed onto the now crowded stage while the audience cheered. Harry almost yelped when Cheryl Hastings from Hufflepuff, a seventh year, leaned over and into his ear said, "So, I hear you have a thing for tan lines. After we're done here, I could show you what a real witch looks like underneath a robe."

Harry was proud of the fact that he didn't jump away and scream. Instead, fighting to keep his voice even, he replied, "Probably not a good idea between teammates, you know."

"Tell that to Johnson and Weasley," she said before straightening.

Afterward, the team gathered back in an anteroom in the castle that had already been prepared with two tables with eight seats each—the first team sat at the first, lower table with Dumbledore, while the reserve squad sat at the second table with Hooch. Reporters filed into the room with their photographers.

The first question came from a younger witch with bejewelled horn-rimmed glasses. The woman's magic looked cold and slimy to Harry. "Rita Skeeter, _Daily Prophet_. Congratulations, Mr Diggory, on making Captain. Can you tell me, a fellow Hufflepuff, how such a handsome and capable young wizard such as yourself has kept from being bonded yet?"

Harry stared at the woman, indignant that she lied about her house, and appalled that she would ask such a horrific question. Worse yet, Cedric didn't seem bothered in the slightest. "Well, there are several attractive witches in school, but I don't see a need to rush into something like that. I've spoken with both Elder Starling and Dame Cassandra of the Starling Coven about it, and they agree that it is better to approach it calmly, patiently and with forethought. When I bond, I want to not just find partners for life, but to also bring honor to my coven."

It was a text-book perfect speech and obviously impressed the mostly female reporters in the audience, some of whom even clapped.

Skeeter then turned her overly magnified eyes to Harry. "And you, Mr Potter? Many readers are fascinated by you, of course. The Boy Who Lived, a magical polyglot, an accomplished Occlumens at thirteen, and a Seeker on track to have more wins during your career than any other Hogwarts Seeker ever. Now that you're a fourth year, have you given any thought to bonding?"

"Er, ma'am, I'm only fourteen," Harry said. "I don't really give a lot of thought to anything."

The audience laughed and Skeeter gave him a false little clap while she sat. Harry glanced at Dumbledore, whose blue eyes seemed to say, _Well done, my boy. Well done._

The questions continued for another thirty minutes before finally the press conference was finished. Afterward, walking back to the castle, Harry looked hard at Cedric, laughing and talking easily with Angelina, Katie and Stephanie Harlow, while the reserves walked behind.

By a mixture of Harry's slower step and the leader's quick one, he found himself back with the second group, walking next to Cho Chang. "Congratulations on making first team, Harry," Cho said.

A quick look at the older girl showed him she was sincere, if a tad jealous as well. Still, she had said it, and that alone meant a lot. "Thanks. I didn't think I'd be on the team at all—I thought Cedric was going to be Seeker."

"No, he's a better Keeper," she said. "When he took over as Seeker, Hufflepuff started losing."

Now that he thought of it, Harry realized she was right. The Hufflepuff team under Cedric had never really done that well. "So why was he picked as Captain?"

"His father is a department head, Dumbledore is wooing his family's coven for something, and the covens themselves want to put him in the spotlight so that a few older, more firm-handed witches will take him in."

"What do you mean?"

Cho looked at him in much the way Lee Jordan did during that first Christmas at Hogwarts while talking about sex. "You mean you don't know?"

"Don't know what?"

"You'll find, love, that our Harry is selectively naïve about a lot of things," Georgina said, walking up and wrapping her arm around his neck. "He got his Snitch and Dragons talk from Lee, believe it or not."

"Oh Harry, I'm so sorry!" Cho said, and again he saw from her magic she meant it.

"Lay off, will you!" Harry said, pushing his way from Georgina's arm. "What are you two talking about?"

"Reason Cedric's not bonded yet is because he has no affection for the girls," Fred said from his sister's side.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, still not following.

"At all," Cho confirmed. "Stephanie moved on him last year when she heard that he'd talked about me. Caught him in the prefect's bath with some seventh year bloke named Jacob. The Heads swept it under the rug and Jacob got safely bound to a pair of witches in their late twenties. That's probably what Skeeter was aiming at. She probably knows, but if she tried to publish anything about the Starling Coven's darling wizard, Dame Cassandra would destroy her and probably take down the _Prophet_ as well."

"But why would that…oh." Harry's eyes widened as he looked back at where Cedric was telling a joke with Stephanie, who laughed uproariously. On his other side, even Angelina seemed more relaxed around him than she did around other wizards, except for Fred. "Is that why the witches seem so relaxed around him?"

"Yeah, they know they won't be able to bond him until he's good and ready," Cho said. "Chances are he cut a deal with Dame Cassandra to finish school, but he'll get bonded right after, I bet you. Too much is riding on him, see."

Harry looked at his fellow Seeker for a long minute before he said, "You really like him, don't you?"

Cho nodded sadly. "He really is a great guy, Harry. He's smart, powerful, kind and considerate. He's everything I've ever wanted in a wizard. But I also know that even if he did one day bond with me, he'd never really love me."

"Love's for idiots," Georgina declared. "Give me a good solid shag and a bottle of potion, and I'm good as gold."

"Good enough for our folks," Fred said.

"And it'll be good enough for us!" Georgina added.

"And all it'll cost to watch is two galleons," Cho said with an exaggerated roll of her eyes. "You two really are pervs. See you, Harry. Congratulations again." She started walking faster to catch up with Cedric.

"Poor, stupid bint," Georgina said. Harry saw a gleam in her eye, though, that made him think she didn't really mean it.

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

Tuesdays and Thursdays were for the optional classes. Harry had Care for Magical Creatures in the mornings, and much to his dismay, despite his attempt to switch over to Arithmancy, Divination again in the afternoon. This year they were concentrating on Arithmancy as Divination, which according to Trelawney was the original point of Arithmancy in the ancient days, before the post-Hogwarts era spell crafters took it over to begin explaining the mechanics of magic itself. It was hard—as difficult as trigonometry or beginning calculus in Muggle studies.

The first two weeks of the course was spent with a constantly drunken Trelawney trying to introduce the key concepts, teach them the rudiments of the magical math and the additional runic symbols used in the science. "Next year, when you become eligible to take Ancient Runes, take it," Trelawney told the whole course. "Doesn't matter if you're doing this class or Arithmancy, the ancient runes are the alphabet of true magic—the symbols of the Gods' own language. Take it, learn it, and remember it, and you'll all do well."

On his fifth class, the third Tuesday of the year, Trelawney finally got back to her normal routine of making them write down any visions they had over the summer. Harry shrugged and wrote about his vision of Voldemort, and the after effects of pain and bleeding from his nose and even his eyes, which he'd never had before.

He turned it in and forgot about it.

On his way to class Thursday, Trelawney stopped him from entering the tower. "Go to the Headmaster's office, Potter," she said, slurring the words a little. "He wants to talk about your parchment from last class."

"Right," Harry muttered. He headed towards the Headmaster's office and walked right in when the gargoyle's guarding the passage opened upon his approach. He, like all the students, knew where Dumbledore's office was, but very few had ever seen it. This was Harry's first time, and he was surprised at just how large the space was. There were books to be certain—hundreds of them, but they were on shelves spread haphazardly around the huge space. Most of the office was dominated by tables filled with an unusual array of odd objects, ranging from odd, puffing crystal constructs to rubber ducks with faded yellow paint.

Instead of shelves, the walls were dominated by large portraits of past headmasters. Given that Hogwarts was a thousand years old, he expected to see hundreds of portraits. Instead, there were perhaps twelve—including the first headmaster, Godric Gryffindor himself.

Harry stared at the different faces that had run the school over the centuries. Gryffindor and Dumbledore were both exceptions, being male. Those two, with one other, were the only Wizards to head Hogwarts. All the other heads had been witches.

"You asked to see me, Headmaster?"

"Yes, Harry," Dumbledore said without looking up from the parchment he was reading. Harry was startled to see a wisp of his own familiar magic on the parchment—Dumbledore was reading his assignment. "Please come and sit."

Harry did as instructed and waited with forced patience as Dumbledore finished reading the parchment. When done, he leaned back in his throne-like chair with a sigh. "Professor McGonagall informed me that you had a vision of Ms Lovegood some weeks ago and helped save her from a most cruel prank."

"Yes sir."

"She also mentioned that that Ms Lovegood spoke to you in your vision."

Expecting to talk about Voldemort, Harry was not prepared to discuss Luna. "Well, yes. She asked for help. In the vision, I mean."

Dumbledore placed his fingers together and stared at Harry for the longest time in silence, his magic burning low in his frail old chest. "Do you know why she was treated so poorly?"

"No, sir."

"There are actually several reasons. First off, the Lovegood family is Proscribed. The Covens formally condemned the family, kicked them out of their Coven, denied them protection under the law, and seized most of their accounts. Luna's mother died under questionable circumstances shortly after that, but there remains a great stigma to the Lovegood name. Additionally, starting last year, Ms Lovegood told her roommates that she had a guardian spirit who watched out for her whenever she went on her evening…" He peered at another parchment over the rims of his glasses. "…walkabouts, she calls them. She calls the spirit a Crumple-Horned Snorkack. When questioned by Professor Flitwick on what a Crumple-Horned Snorkack looked like, she described…well, that doesn't matter. Miss Lovegood is known to have some flights of fancy, but quite often these flights of fancy have a small basis in truth. For instance, as an Aether, Ms Lovegood is so attuned to her magic she could feel if the ambient wards of Hogwarts were directed to observe her, even if only in a passive manner—a manner consistent with, say, a certain magical map, for example?"

"I didn't know that, Headmaster."

"Perhaps not. Well, let's discuss this current vision of yours. The witch's name, in case you were wondering, was Ellspeth Hockering. Her body was found in late August by Muggle authorities in Liverpool. The Department of Magical Law Enforcement was able to obtain some of the evidence from her body, enough to identify her killer as Bartemius Crouch Junior. Of course, the problem with this match is that Bartemius Crouch Junior died fourteen years ago, shortly after being sent to Azkaban for the torture of Neville Longbottom's parents."

"You believe me, then?"

Dumbledore smiled. "Mr Potter, we have already established your credentials as a confirmed seer and oracle. While our initial thoughts were that you were an oracle only, I suspected there was more to it, and that Occlumency and some training in Divination would prove you were an actual seer. We have proven beyond doubt that I was correct. Not only are you a seer, you are an unusually perceptive one."

"It hurts like…well, very badly, Professor," Harry said.

Dumbledore nodded. "I would suggest you contact Madam Pomfrey about a small potions kit for those situations where you find yourself in need to immediate relief. What I wanted from you, though, was your memory of the vision."

"You can do that?"

"Indeed. Come." Dumbledore stood up and led Harry to a huge cabinet against one wall. As they approached, the cabinet opened of its own accord, and as it did so a huge stone bowl rolled out, as if the pedestal were part of the same mechanism that opened the doors. The interior of the doors were lined in glass vials contain silver strands of magic.

"Are those memories, sir?" Harry asked.

"Indeed they are. How did you know?"

"They look just like your memories when you're summoning a Patronus."

"Interesting." Dumbledore led him to the bowl, which had a strange, swirling mist in it that looked like it was not quite a fluid, but heavier than a gas. "This, Mr Potter, is called a Pensieve. It is perhaps the greatest creation of Perenelle Flamel, the most accomplished witch in history. Of course, being six hundred years old does leave quite some time to accomplish things. It is a way to view one's memories with magically enhanced detail. With your permission, I would like to view your memory of the vision."

"How?"

"Just think of the vision, hold your wand to your temple and say _'De Mnemonikos'." _

"Any specific wand movement?"

"Not at all."

Harry closed his eyes and with his Occlumency in place, pulled the hated memory back. His head hurt just thinking it as he placed his wand to his temple and said the Greek words. He felt a pull on his thoughts and then stared at the shimmering silver mist on his wand tip.

"Very well done, Harry," Dumbledore said. "Now place it in the Pensieve, please."

Harry did as instructed. The memory seemed to swirl about with the heavy water-mist. "What now?"

"Now, we view it." He dipped his old, bearded face into the bowl, and with a shrug Harry did the same.

They emerged in a room so blurry it was impossible to make out anything but the grossest details—the vague shape of a man on a bed; the movement of the woman toward the bed. Words sounded garbled, and individual features were impossible to make out at all.

"Is this what it's supposed to be like?" Harry asked.

"Not at all," Dumbledore said, though he did not sound surprised at all. "It is proof of a higher power, really. I occasionally like to view the memories of visions from confirmed seers because it reaffirms my faith. Come, my boy."

The pulled out of the memory, and with a deft flick of his wand, he pulled the memory from the Pensieve and placed it back in Harry's mind. "What do you mean about faith?" he asked after the unusual, puckering feeling of a returning memory faded.

"It is impossible to duplicate a seer's memory of a vision," Dumbledore said. "Legilimency fails, as does the Pensieve. The Department of Mysteries has speculated with some convincing arguments that it is because of the precious nature of such visions. Glimpses of the future are gifts of the gods, received in pain and often the blood of their chosen receptacles. That makes them sacred and divine, and thus protected. It is only a theory, of course, but one that brings me comfort. As I approach my next great journey, I hesitate to think that I shall simply end. The idea, that there are higher beings makes me believe rather firmly that there is also a higher plane for our magic—that is to say, our soul—to ascend to."

"So what do you think Voldemort is doing?" Harry asked.

"He is seeking a new body, of course," Dumbledore said lightly as he made his way back to his desk. "During your first year, he attempted to use you as a means of destroying the soul of his host, thus allowing him to permanently possess Quirinus's body. Such a complete possession would become over time quite permanent, and Voldemort would thus regain a new body. That attempt failed, and I daresay you will know better than to fall for such a trick again, given how very costly it was."

Harry knew very well that Charity Burbage had been Dumbledore's last living descendent, aside from her being Harry's friend and favourite teacher. "What's the Ministry going to do?" Harry asked.

"The Ministry? Why, nothing. Voldemort is a troublesome spirit, but as far as the Ministry is concerned, that is all. They are not interested in why this spirit lingers, or why it is so very powerful. For them to ask those questions will bring up terrible, painful memories. But it is enough to know Crouch is involved, either directly or somehow through the memory of his son. We'll continue to research, and maybe with time we will determine what he is up to."

"And that's it?"

Dumbledore looked intently at Harry. "What else would you have me do, Mr Potter?"

"Find Crouch and put him in jail!"

"We know exactly where he is: Spread over the North Sea, where his ashes were scattered. And that is why we can't take any direct action. The man you saw, the killer of Ellspeth Hockering, has been dead for fourteen years. Without being able to actually see your vision, there is absolutely nothing I can do."

Harry's shoulders hunched. "Then why did you ask to see me?"

"You're angry," Dumbledore said. "Why?"

"Why?" Harry stared at the man in shock. "I have girls attacking me like I'm a ruddy piece of meat, I had a professor scream at me because I had the gall to ask a wizard to act as my guardian to save the money you and Professor Lupin were going to let get stolen from me, I have to get married to at least two girls who are going to steal my magic and leave me weak, and on top of all of that I've started having bloody painful visions of murderers that you say we can't do anything about. And to just top it all of my bloody relatives admitted they've treated me like shite, that they don't care, and that they want me gone when I turn seventeen…"

Harry didn't mean to say any of that, not really. It just started dribbling out until it became a torrent. All he could finally say was, "It's not fair."

Dumbledore stared at him in silence again, his blue eyes twinkling furiously while his magic boiled. "You are very young, Harry," he finally said with a low, calm tone that was worse, somehow, than shouting. "So I attribute your naiveté to lack of experience. I assure you, if the world were fair, we'd all be dead. We have the power to manipulate the laws of nature in ways the majority of humanity cannot even comprehend. We are given easily twice to three or even four times the years of our Muggle cousins. And we spend our vast power murdering each other like brutish animals, taking whole families away. I know something of fairness, you see, and I assure you as bad as your life may seem, it is far, far better than many will ever know."

The worst part was the headmaster spoke softly, never raising his voice, and yet Harry felt as if he'd just endured a two hour shouting match from Vernon. "You're saying I should just buckle down and take it, then?" Harry said, not quite ready to give up his anger.

"That is entirely up to you, Mr Potter. Others have fought against the way things are, and yet things remain just as they were while those who fought are either no more, or have become a part of what they once fought against. If you choose to fight, be prepared to be utterly crushed. But if you choose to accept your role in this society, you may find some measure of comfort. You make the bonding process sound horrific, and yet it is a very pleasurable experience. Yes, it does weaken a wizard, but since all wizards bond, equality remains. No, your concerns are those of a child. When you are older, and your perspective has been filled by experience and fact, we can talk further about what is fair or not. In the meantime, I thank you for your time this afternoon. I believe you have Muggle Studies next, correct?"

"Yes, Headmaster."

"Off with you, then."

Angry, confused and powerless to do anything about it, Harry turned and left the headmaster's office. Before he reached the door, Dumbledore called after him. "Oh, and Harry?"

Without turning around, Harry said, "Yes, Headmaster."

"Leave Luna Lovegood alone. If you cannot stop stalking her with your father's map, I will be forced to confiscate it. The stigma of her name would do you no favors. Do you understand?"

"Fine," Harry said, so angry he didn't trust himself to say anything else as he pushed the door open and stalked out, When he was gone, Dumbledore lowered his head into his hands with a tired, bitter sigh, while nearby Fawkes crooned gently.

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**Author's Note**: Very special thanks as always to Teufel1987, JR and Miles for beta reading.


	27. Durmstrang

A/N: Chap 26 review responses are in my forums. A warning for those who hate the quidditch-intensive chapters-this is a quidditch-intensive chapter.

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**Chapter Twenty-Seven: Durmstrang**

It was obvious within the first ten minutes of their first practice that Angelina Johnson was going to be running the show. Cedric made a few opening remarks, flashed his smile and cheered the team on, and then Angelina started discussing their training plans. Moreover, she and the rest of the team seemed perfectly okay with it, so Harry did not mention anything about it either.

In the meantime, Cedric acted as the team's spokesman, and in this role, the man positively sparkled. He seemed to know exactly what to say to the reporters no matter how difficult or inane the questions were. And the reporters—especially the witches—just ate it up with abandon.

Fortunately for the team, Cedric actually was a very good Keeper—not as good as Wood, but better than any other Keeper at the school since Harry's former Quidditch captain graduated to go and marry the woman who had successfully poached him in his fifth year.

The first game was going to be at Hogwarts against a very powerful Durmstrang team. According to the papers, Durmstrang was the clear favourite because the team's Seeker was already playing on a professional team and was being touted as the next messiah of Quidditch. However, Durmstrang did not allow non-students and alumni past its wards, ever. The first game would be in little over a month, after which they would play every two weeks or so through mid-February. The top four teams would then play in an elimination round to decide the two teams for the championship of the International Junior Quidditch League.

Angelina, as the team's unofficial captain, quickly recognized that they could not afford to learn on the job, so to speak, and so scheduled almost daily scrimmages against the reservists. The practices were long and gruelling, but also incredibly productive, since it gave Angelina and Katie and chance to form a good working relationship with Stephanie Barlow. Harry, too, had to adjust to Alicia Spinnet's replacement since Angelina made it clear she expected him to be more than just a Seeker. Rather, he was going to act as their defence and unofficial "fourth" Chaser, a tactic employed to great effect by the Irish National team at the last professional championship game.

When he was not practising Quidditch, Harry struggled to keep up with quite possibly his most difficult year of study so far. By early October, he realized that things were going to be different from his first year as a "Free Student" as the fourth years and above were called.

The main differences, of course, were Potions and Muggle Studies. In Third year, the students took Pre-Potions, a class which taught proper handling of magical substances and the underlying theory of potions. It was a difficult class that required loads of rote memorization. Actual Potions was ten times worse since it was so easy to have disastrous accidents. Within the first week, Harry understood why Potions was not taught to the "controlled" First and Second Year students. Additionally, he came to understand why Snape wanted him paired with Longbottom.

Though Neville was his friend, the boy was a disaster with a cauldron. In their first two classes, he had destroyed two by accident despite Harry doing everything he could to prevent it. Neville himself was as upset about it as Snape was, cursing himself and hitting his own head as if he were a bad crup.

"I just don't understand it!" Neville finally said. "I did fine in Pre-Potions!"

"I honestly think it's your magic, Neville," Harry finally said. "When you handle the ingredients, you're bleeding magic through your fingers."

Neville slumped. "So what can I do?"

"We'll talk to Professor Snape and see if he has any suggestions."

This, of course, was easier said than done, since Snape tended to order everyone out with a snarl when classes were done. Harry, feeling brave and remembering that, despite his angry appearance, Snape still helped him over the summer, lingered in the class despite the order. Neville waited at the door, looking worried.

"I said get out," Snape said.

"Professor, I had a question," Harry braved. "I think the reason Neville is doing so badly is because he's bleeding his magic through his fingers into the ingredients."

Snape sneered, but instead of dismissing the claim, he said, "Longbottom, get in here and show me your wand."

Glancing at Harry for support, the other Gryffindor did as instructed and removed his wand. "Perform a lighting charm," Snape ordered.

Neville incanted, "Lumos!" and a faint light appeared.

Harry, though, was staring not at the light, but at the welling of magic in Neville's hand, while only a small sliver went into the wand. "The wand's a horrible match," he said. "It's causing Neville's magic to…back up, I guess, in his hand."

Snape shook his head. "That's the only reason why his magic would bleed through his fingers. Longbottom, you cannot continue potions until you have a better matched wand. Write to Dame Augusta and ask to be fitted to an appropriate wand. After that, you may continue your lessons. If you do not, then you will be summarily dropped from the class with a Troll and will not be permitted to take your OWL, which, if I may remind you, is required to continue upper division classes."

Neville's eyes had widened to saucer-size with that and he turned to run out of the classroom to immediately write to his Gran.

"Five points to Gryffindor for identifying the problem, and likely saving all our lives from the walking disaster the boy represented," Snape said to Harry. "Now get out."

"Professor…"

"For Merlin's sake, what is it, boy?"

"Why did you and my mother not stay together?"

If Harry had punched Snape in the stomach, caught his hair on fire and then kicked his balls, he could not have looked more surprised and horrified as he did with that question. "Lupin," he finally snarled.

"No, sir. I mean, not entirely. It was Sirius Black who first told me. I've heard so many bad things about her, I just… I'm just trying to understand."

"That is a subject I do not wish to discuss with you, or any other," Snape said coldly. "Please leave now."

"Yes, Professor," Harry said, sighing bitterly.

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

As bad as Potions was, Muggle Studies was a nightmare. If not for the Ordering Potion Harry and the rest took their very first year, Harry doubted he would have been able keep up as the class began what would have been a two-year process in Muggle Schools: their General Certification of Secondary Education.

Between practices, scrimmages and classes, Harry barely had time to breathe, much less do anything on his own. He noticed that Ron, Neville and Seamus were just as bogged down in classes, but he had Quidditch on top of that. He rarely looked for Luna any more on the map—not because of Dumbledore's warning, but just because by the time he made it back to his bed he was too tired to stay awake.

And so, working and studying, it should not have been a surprise that the first Saturday in November came faster than any of them were prepared for.

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

The fourteen players of the Durmstrang squad arrived Saturday morning on board a bizarre ship that looked like a mixture of a classic British cutter and a child's toy. It popped up out of the Dark Lake without a drop of water on its deck, and at the helm stood the headmaster of Durmstrang himself, Igor Karkaroff.

The students of Hogwarts were on hand to greet their visitors, as were several reporters from both England and the magical state of Bulgaria. It was considered bad luck for the visiting team to see their opponents before the game, so Harry and his teammates were in their school robes and spread through the student body with their year and housemates.

The Durmstrang players looked to be all upper-division, Sixth and Seven years at minimum. Even more unusual was the fact that all the players were boys. Though Harry didn't follow professional Quidditch with the passion Ron and Seamus did, he knew from them that there was not a single all-male team in the professional circuit, while there were several all-female teams.

They were uniformly broad-shouldered, though their heights did vary. Interestingly, the shortest player was also the most famous. Harry recognized Viktor Krum's face from their training Omniocular sessions. He was also of lighter build than the other players, which was normal for Seekers. Even so, he looked strong and walked with a confident swagger.

He was also bonded from what Harry could see of his magic—twice over.

The Hogwarts students applauded the guests while Dumbledore and Karkaroff greeted each other with nods and warm words that were not reflected in their forced smiles. These men had no love for each other. Of that much, Harry was sure.

The visitors went straight to the pitch to begin their warm-ups and acclimate to the new playing area. Harry was watching them walk away when Angelina snuck up beside him. "What do you think?"

"I think they're going to be like Slytherin our very first game," Harry said.

Angelina nodded. "Yeah, me too. Come on, let's get the team together and get ready."

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

Harry wasn't sure how they did it, but by the time the Hogwarts Dragons got to the pitch, the stands had been expanded into a solid stadium of seats surrounding the pitch, seating easily five thousand or more.

More impressive was the fact that almost every seat was filled. Wizarding photography was banned because of the effect flashes could have on players, but Harry could see an entire box of reporters with Omnioculars pointed at them, many on tripods to keep them steady. Cedric greeted each player in the changing room, saying a few encouraging words and smiling. With Harry, he put his hand on the younger boy's shoulder and said, "Remember, as good as Krum is, he's no better than you are. Just do your best and I know you'll make us proud."

A moment later, Cedric had moved on to the Slytherin beaters. The cynical part of Harry's mind—the part that knew intrinsically that life was unfair and that he had a future mapped out ahead of him that he did not particularly want—knew that Cedric was just saying the words. And yet, the part of him that was a lonely fourteen year old boy was made warm and happy by the encouragement.

Moreover, as he watched Cedric make the rounds, he saw others sit a little straighter as well. Gregoria Goyle actually blushed a little, though it was hard to see behind her whiskers. It dawned on Harry then that, even if Angelina was the unofficial captain of the team, Cedric really was a leader of sorts. He didn't call the plays, but somehow he made everyone smile and feel more confident.

That confidence lasted all the way through the first five minutes of the game, up until Krum body-checked Harry and sent him flying off his broom. Nor was it accidental contact—he saw Krum's dark eyes set over a long, hawk-like nose boring into him before the Durmstrang player checked him with his shoulder and sent him clean off his broom.

Harry fought for air as he fell, but he knew from their long training sessions that ICW-regulation Quidditch did not allow outside interference. If he fell and broke anything, he was out of the game. If he died—well, that was definitely it for the season.

He silently summoned his broom, seeing the magical tether just like his first year. He'd not had to do it, nor had the mindfulness to try, since then. But desperation fuelled his magic and his reflexes.

The broom soared into his hand with a painful slap against his gloves. He spun his legs over and pulled up just a foot from the grass of the pitch. He still struggled to breathe and saw a strange halo on the edge of his sight, much like after he had a vision, but he was still up.

"All right there, Harry?" Angelina said as she flew up behind him.

"Got my eggs scrambled a bit," Harry admitted. "That wasn't accidental, was it?"

"Not in the least," Angelina said. "We're getting a penalty shot. Hang back by Cedric to catch your breath."

Indeed, as she spoke the other Chasers were gathering before the Durmstrang Keeper for their penalty shot. Krum flew in a circle high above the Durmstrang goals like a vulture. Cedric looked concerned when Harry arrived. "Okay there?"

"Yeah, I'll live." Indeed, the pressure in his chest was easing a little, replaced instead by a deep, painful throb. Still, he could breathe better.

"That was some pretty impressive broom work, there," Cedric said. "How did you summon it to you from half-way across the pitch?"

Harry shrugged. "I can see the tether. You know that first time when you say 'Up!'? It comes because it forms a magical tether. I just pulled on it and hoped."

"Thank Merlin you did," Cedric said with a pale grin. "Magic knows I wouldn't want to play Seeker against that madman." _So much for encouragement._

Hogwarts made its shot and normal play resumed. Twice more Krum dove as if to check Harry, forcing the smaller Seeker to give way before his superior mass and muscle, and each time it opened a hole in the Gryffindor defence that allowed a Durmstrang score. Even as he gave way, Harry knew exactly what the other Seeker was doing, but knowing what was happening didn't let him change it. As much as he hated to admit it, Krum was simply a better Seeker.

Harry did his best to try and disrupt the Durmstrang Chasers, and to a certain extent he was successful, but unfortunately Krum was just as, if not more so, successful in disrupting Angelina's Chasers.

The one bright spot of the game, though, were the two Slytherin beaters. After Harry was checked, the two felt entitled to take the shackles off and went full-tilt at the Durmstrang players, knocking out a Chaser and one of the opposing beaters with vicious blows that not even the Weasleys could have, or even would have, pulled off.

It just wasn't enough, though. Angelina and her Chasers kept the score within twenty points for nearly four hours of play until Harry spotted the Snitch. He dove for it, moulding himself to his broom and taking his normal angle of approach.

Viktor Krum also saw the Snitch, but did not attack at Harry's angle. Instead, with shrewd, beady eyes the opposing Seeker positioned himself a few yards beyond the Snitch's position. As it always did, the Snitch sensed Harry's approach and darted away—right into Krum's waiting hand.

Harry pulled up, stunned speechless, while Krum smirked. "Zank you, little one," he said in thickly accented English. "Perhaps _eef_ you beg, I _vill_ autograph your broom." He laughed as he flew down to join his wildly celebrating team.

"Well, that bloody well sucked," Stephanie Harlow said as the team assembled on the pitch floor.

"Not Harry's fault," Cedric said as he joined them. "Krum pulled that trick against the Italian scrimmage team over the summer too. It's a big risk—if the Snitch goes to him, he comes out smelling like a god. If it twitches any other direction, he depends on his broom skills."

Harry just shook his head. "How could he know to be right there?"

"Because Durmstrang farms its players out to the Bulgarian national team for training, and he's been playing since he was old enough to sit on a broom,"

"And he's better than you," Gregoria said pointedly.

"Greg…" Cedric began.

"No, she's right," Harry admitted angrily. "He was better than me. He was bigger, stronger, more experienced than I was, and he just played better. I'm going to have to get better too, or we're doomed."

"You are the youngest Seeker of any of the schools we're playing," Angelina said, having already researched their opponents. "But don't worry, just man up and get ready for the next game. Durmstrang was projected to beat us by a hundred and fifty points—they only won by sixty. Now, come on, let's go shower and get ready for the press conference."

That was another difference between being a "free" student, and a lower year. Harry no longer had to walk back to the castle to change. However, it was as strange showering with Cedric, knowing his tastes, as it would have been showering with the girls. Nor was a lot of effort put into separating the two locker rooms. Students were expected to shower and then change in the anteroom of the showers, while they shared a common locker room itself.

The end result, though, was a lot of exposed flesh. Harry fought not to stare at the girls as they walked out of the showers clad only in their knickers and bras, with their hair wrapped up in their towel. Evidently hair-drying charms when applied right after the shower made their hair too fuzzy. Harry was fully dressed in his trousers and shirt before he left the showers—he only put on his socks, shoes and robe in the locker room proper.

It was difficult not looking at the girls as they casually bent over to pull on their skirts, especially when he saw, just for the moment his eyes strayed, that Stephanie's knickers were nearly transparent. The only thing that saved him was Gregoria walking out in the same state of dress. That was enough to kill any lascivious thoughts in his head.

The post-game conference was actually held in the Great Hall, with two tables for each team. Krum sat on the inside end of their table, next to a smirking Headmaster Karkaroff. Dumbledore took the seat opposite next to Cedric.

Although Durmstrang won the game, the reporters, even those from other countries, seemed instead to concentrate on _how_ the team won, rather than the fact of their win. "So, Professor Karkaroff, do you normally encourage your players to body-check fourteen-year-old opponents as if it were a professional game?" a reporter from the _Francois Magique _asked in accented but passable English.

"I encourage my players to win," Karkaroff said brusquely. "The Durmstrang Institute gives the finest education money can buy. Witches and wizards come from all over Europe to attend. They come because we teach our students to be successful."

"And what of accusations that Durmstrang openly teaches the Dark Arks, and requires all students to learn the Unforgivable Curses to pass."

Karkaroff sneered. "Bulgaria has yet to ratify that ICW resolution," he said. "Therefore such curses are not considered Unforgivable."

"I'm sure you have extensive experience of such spells, given your allegiance to Voldemort during the last British touch-up," the French reporter continued.

Karkaroff stood, incensed, but it was Dumbledore spoke. "Monsieur Delacour, I am absolutely certain you know of Headmaster Karkaroff's pardon, seeing as you were there thirteen years ago when it occurred. For you to bring it up in this fashion is unbecoming."

The report smiled wryly. "A subject, of course, which I'm sure you know a great deal about, Monsieur Dumbledore. I ask this, then. The Hogwarts team was not expected to do well in this game, and in fact many odds-makers consider the Hogwarts Dragons, which is a relatively young team comprised of four sixth years and three fourth years as their starters, a bit of a long shot. And yet Durmstrang was only one goal ahead when Mr Krum caught the snitch. Tell me, did you find Hogwarts more of a challenge than you thought?"

Karkaroff, momentarily mollified, sank back to his seat. Krum, as captain, stroked his chin. "_Zey _played _vell_. _Zee_ Chasers _vere_ better _zan_ we thought and _zeir_ beaters were some of _zee_ best I have seen. I _zink zey_ will do better than you _haf_ given _zem_ credit for."

"And what of your counterpart in Mr Potter?"

Krum smirked. "He is learning."

Delacour sat, but unfortunately Rita Skeeter stood. "So tell us, Cedric, how it feels to suffer through such a devastating defeat!"

Cedric flashed his sparkly smile and said, "Ms Skeeter, I'm not sure what game you were watching, but the game we played was not a devastating defeat. We lost, yes, and that is frustrating, but certainly not devastating. Durmstrang fielded a strong team, and we played right along with them the entire game. That's not devastating to me, it's a sign that we still have room to improve, but it's also a wake-up call to the other teams not to dismiss us, either."

Rita waved her hand, as if his answer was irrelevant. "And Mr Potter? Poor Harry, how hard was it to be crushed in such an underhanded and vile fashion?"

Harry looked down his table to see Viktor smirking back. "Er, well, I'm not sure I'd call it underhanded or vile. He didn't hit me from the back—I saw him coming and just couldn't get out of the way. Was it a low blow? Sure. Was it a foul? Absolutely. But it also established his dominance in the air. I couldn't assume my normal flying because of the risk of another body check. It was a smart, strategic foul, and the sign of a solid, experienced player. I didn't lose the Snitch out there because he was cheating. I lost because he was the better player, plain and simple."

Krum's smirk change a little bit, to a more speculative gaze. "And what are you planning on doing about it?" Rita asked.

"Why, get better, of course," Harry said with a Cedric-worthy smile. Several in the audience laughed, while Rita merely frowned and sat down.

Delacour stood again. "Monsieur Potter, while it is true that you lost the Snitch, I and many others were quite impressed by your play. However, something occurred early in the game that caught those of us in the business completely by surprise. Can you tell us how you were able to wandlessly and silently summon your broom back to your hand whilst in the midst of a two hundred foot free-fall?"

The question hung in the air like the tolling of a bell, silencing all the other whispering in the room. Even Harry's teammates looked at him, surprised at just how the question was worded, wondering if they themselves could do the same.

Harry scratched his chin, trying to remember what he told Cedric. "You know when you first take flying lessons, and you tell the broom 'Up'? Well, when you do that, the broom forms a tether to your hand, and it's that tether that pulls the broom into your hand. I just grabbed a hold of that tether and yanked on it and hoped it worked. I wasn't sure it would, to be honest, but I was pretty desperate."

Delacour stared at him, lips slightly parted as he processed the answer. "So, you somehow sensed the tethering charm of the broom, and were able to manipulate it?"

"Well, I suppose. Looks a bit like a stretch of knitted white wool."

"Monsieur Delacour," Dumbledore said, "while it is no secret, we in England have not felt a need to specifically advertise the fact that Mr Potter is an Aether, but nonetheless it is true he can see magic."

"A male Aether?" a woman said in a grating American accent. "Is such a thing even possible?"

"Oh, we have records of it happening before," Dumbledore said. "While rare, it is not unheard of. However, that is not why we're here. Do we have any more questions about this most excellent game?"

Questions continued for another ten minutes before it broke up. Afterward, as the two teams walked back to the lake where the Durmstrang ship waited, Krum singled Harry out. "Harry Potter," he said. "Do not feel bad for _zis_ loss. You played _vell_. I _zink_ if we play again, it _vill_ be a fun game, no?"

He offered his hand, something rarely if ever done in the magical world. Startled but pleased, Harry took the hand in his. Instantly their magic clashed before melding into a neutral stasis. "It was an honour to play you," he said to the older boy. "Maybe next time I'll check you."

"Not a good idea, not enough mass yet," Krum said, laughing. "But _ven_ you are older? Yes, maybe so. Good bye for now, Harry Potter."

With that, Krum joined the rest of his team on the magical ship, which pulled away from the make-shift pier that ran out from the shore before somehow diving into the water and disappearing entirely.

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**Author's Note**: Very special thanks as always to Teufel1987, JR and Miles for beta reading.


	28. Visions of Salem

A/N: Chap 26 review responses are in my forums. Another warning for those who hate the quidditch-intensive chapters-this is a another quidditch-intensive chapter.

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**Chapter Twenty-Eight: Visions of Salem**

Harry had a vision in the worst possible place—the middle of Divination Class.

He was partnered with Justine Finch-Fletchley, who despite Harry's recent summer growth spurt was _still_ taller than him, performing Crystallomancy. It was a problematic assignment because it required the students to be exceedingly close to each other while staring into the crystal ball. For most, this was not a problem since they were all girls.

For Harry, though, it was an issue. Justine was flushing intensely when Professor Trelawney managed, between unexplained bouts of vociferous swearing, to explain to them the position she wanted them to be in. It was not, as Harry hoped, just leaning from a stool staring into the crystal ball.

No, Trelawney placed mats on the floor with little pillows to prop their heads up, within touching distance of each other, with the globe at their heads. Not only that, but because they were supposed to stare at the globe at the same time, Trelawney had the mats angled so their heads would be within kissing distance. As he got down next to the furiously blushing Justine, Harry wondered why Trelawney just couldn't have placed the mats on opposite side of the globe.

Fortunately, Justine was not a poacher, or at least not yet. At fourteen, she had the whip-slim body of youth, and unlike Lavender Brown or Hermione Granger, she had not really begun developing yet. She was also intensely, painfully shy, and conscious of her height—she was the tallest girl in Fourth Year.

"Take deep breaths when you look into the globe," Trelawney breezily told them. "Bloody bollocks, Ms Goyle, can't you actually lay flat?"

"I _am _lying flat!" game the deep-voiced response.

"You look like a fucking huffalump!"

"You should talk, you flat-chested cow!"

Justine chuckled while Harry just shook his head. Another difference between Trelawney and real professors was that she did not even bother to maintain control of her class, and never assigned detentions or took points away. Instead, she just cursed at the students.

"Better to be flat than to have a bent spine from carrying around those mountainous mammary glands all the time!" she snapped back. "If you must, raise up the globe then, for Morgana's sake! Alright, children, like I was saying before I was distracted by the huffalump…"

"Cow!"

"…take deep breaths and stare into the crystal. I am going to be burning some incense to place you all into the right frame of mind to better access your inner eye."

Justine's quiet laughter faded into quiet shock as she, Harry and the rest watched Trelawney pile _cannabis_ leaves onto a large silver platter in the centre of the room and then ignite it with her wand. "Blimey," Justine whispered, "is she burning marijuana in class?"

"Not everyone can hear you, Ms Finch-Fletchley," Trelawney said over her shoulder, "can you whisper louder?"

"She's wondering why you're burning marijuana in class, Professor," Parvati Patil said helpfully a few spaces over. She smiled at Justine's glare.

"A very good question, for once," Trelawney said, before pausing to breathe in a lungful of smoke. "Ahh. We are witch-born; marijuana does not have effects on us that it does on Muggles. It does not cause hallucinations, delusions or impaired memory, or else I would not be able to use it here. Rather, for magic users, it induces a sense of lucid calm that is conducive to certain forms of divination, as if you were taking a combination of a calming draught and an ordering potion together. Now, stop talking, you little shites, and breathe."

"I think she's full of dragon dung," Justine whispered, though more softly.

Harry shrugged and stared into the globe as instructed, trying to breathe as shallowly as possible. He felt Justine's breath wash against his, smelling faintly of a breath mint. After a few moments, at a point he could not remember, he stopped trying to breathe shallowly and let the smoke into his lungs.

"Harry," Justine said, still whispering. "Do you remember orientation?"

Without looking at her, he said, "Yeah."

"It felt really nice when you touched me," Justine whispered. "Sometimes I think about that, how nice it felt to be touched by you."

Harry should have felt shocked when she reached out and took his hand in hers, but instead he felt absolutely calm. He felt his magic rushing through to hers and saw as the earthen tones in her chest warmed up to a soft, soothing glow at influx of his magic. "So nice," she whispered. She didn't try looking into his eyes or anything that could be dangerous; instead she laid her head down on the pillow, resting her cheek on the back of his hand, and closed her eyes.

In the crystal ball, he saw her standing by Hermione. The two were outside King's Cross walking together. Behind them came a tall figure in black robes and a silver mask. He paced behind them like a ghost, noticed by no one else. Harry yelled a warning, but the girls could not hear him as the black-cloaked, masked figure brandished a long, wicked-looking knife. He lunched forward and stabbed it into Justine's back; she looked up, her mouth open in a silent scream of shock and pain, as the masked figure shoved it hard and higher into her body.

Hermione turned and cried out as the figure ripped the knife out of Justine's back and slashed it across the other girl's throat with casual, stunning brutality.

Suddenly the globe cracked with a shockingly loud _pop_. Harry become aware of Justine's worried voice calling his name, followed by the tell-tale agony of a post-vision headache—what he was starting to call in his mind a seer's hangover.

Trelawney and Justine helped him sit up while around him, the rest of the class stared. With shaking hands, Harry reached for the small box of potions he kept in his robe from Madam Pomfrey. Trelawney grabbed it for him, and with surprising competence (probably from experience) removed the proper phial, popped the cork and forced it down his throat.

"What happened?" Justine was asking the professor. "Why did he start shouting at me to run like that?"

Harry, meanwhile, accepted the kerchief from Trelawney and wiped away blood from his nose. He waved away any more help, climbed to his feet and walked away on shaking legs, his hands above his head as he let the pain potion work. To his relief, Trelawney had already opened the tower windows, letting a cold breeze wash out the marijuana smoke.

He turned and saw Justine standing nearby, her cheeks wet and her eyes wide. "Harry?" she said, "Why did you yell at me to run? Who was going to kill me? Please, tell me?"

Behind her, the whole class had risen to its feet and stared intently at him. "I'm sorry, it was just…"

"You broke the globe," Justine said, her voice dropping as she stepped closer. "That means you had a powerful vision. Please. Tell me."

"I saw a man in black robes and a silver mask," Harry said, feeling his stomach twist at the memory. "He had a knife. He…hurt you. That's all I saw."

To his horror, Justine sobbed and stepped back to cover her face, shaking her head. "It can't be."

"Let this be a lesson," Trelawney said in a voice made shockingly loud by the sudden silence. "Visions are not fact, they are probability. The Hall of Prophecy at the Department of Mysteries is filled with failed prophecies that were perfectly valid until someone managed to change the probabilities that drove them. Harry, you had a true vision, but Miss Finch-Fletchley, it is a vision only, not a fact. We will alert the Department of Law Enforcement to let them know that there may be a risk, and see what can be done to mitigate that risk. Now, I think we've had enough teen drama for now. Class is dismissed, please go away."

Harry was the first to grab his satchel and was half-way out of the tower when Justine caught up. "Harry, wait, please!"

Sighing, he slowed to let his fellow Gryffindor catch up. "Look, I'm sorry," he said. "I hate these visions. They hurt and they never show anything good."

She dried her eyes with the palm of her hand. "Harry, please tell me. What did you really see?"

Harry shivered at the vision and found himself looking for blood on her. "I saw you and Hermione walking out of Kings Cross. The man in the mask followed you, but no one seemed to notice him. He stabbed you in the back and then he…" Harry choked a little. "He stabbed you and slashed Hermione's throat. I'm sorry, it's just…"

It's alright, Harry, thank you for telling me," Justine said in a subdued tone. "Do you…can we change it?"

He blinked at her, then shook his head. "It's like Professor Trelawney said, I saw a probability, not a certainty. Now that we know there's a risk, we _will _change it. We have to. You write to your folks, and we'll do what we have to."

Justine nodded and looked down with a faint blush. Then to his shock, she leaned down slightly because of her height and kissed his cheek before rushing down the steps ahead of him.

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

Hogwarts had a flying carriage. Harry and the rest of the Quidditch team was actually more excited about the Thestral-drawn flying carriage than they were about the fact that they were going to Salem, Massachusetts, to play the Salem Witch's Institute. Of course, they had to take Harry's word for it, but it was still amazing to them.

Even more amazing was how _large_ the carriage was on the inside. From the outside it looked like an immaculately made four-person carriage with an enclosed driver's seat. On the inside, it looked like the prefect's carriage from the Hogwarts Express, with a snack bar and three rooms with beds for those players who wanted to nap on the way over.

"Be seated, everyone," Dumbledore said. "We will be in transit for only an hour, so please do not get too comfortable."

"An hour to cross the Atlantic?" Angelina asked. "Are we going by Portkey?"

"No, my dear, we are going by thestral," Dumbledore said. "They have ways of getting to places quickly. Now, settle in, we will be taking off in moments."

Indeed, Hagrid was just finishing the harnesses for the four thestrals that would be carrying the fourteen students and Headmaster. When they were done, he did not wait for any signal, but instead gave the lead mare a resounding slap on the hindquarters that sent her charging forward. The other magical creatures surged forward, while inside the students stumbled back into their seats as the carriage took flight.

Almost immediately the world beyond the windows of the carriage blurred as the thestrals accelerated to speeds even Muggle science could not approach yet. "Alright, huddle up," Angelina called. "Let's talk strategy. The _Witchers_ field some of the best Chasers in the world, at least according to the ICW ranking charts, so we have our work cut out for us. Potter, I hope that new strength regimen has started to kick in, because we're going to need you out there like never before."

"I'm not sure I'm stronger—I'm too sore all the time to tell," Harry admitted.

"Then it's working," Cedric said. "Trust me."

They continued to talk strategy until Dumbledore announced they were nearly there. The team broke its huddle and crowded at the window to watch their approach.

The Salem Witch's Institute was housed on a charmed island sitting directly in the centre of Salem Sound, midway between Salem, Marblehead and Endicott College. The school itself was a single building, but was not a castle. Instead, it was a huge, sprawling, New England mansion of wood and stone with more windows and gables than Harry could count at first glance. The mansion was surrounded by a grassy landscape that contained a Quidditch pitch, a small menagerie of magical animals, and greenhouses.

The Salem students had already assembled on the rocky shore of the island, and it was to that stretch of dark green grass that the carriage approached. The landing was surprisingly smooth, all things considered. When at last the carriage came to a stop, Dumbledore looked every player in the eye. "Best behaviour, of course." With that simple admonition, he opened the door and stepped outside.

"Headmistress Franklin!" he said with arms wide in greeting.

"Headmaster Dumbledore," the headmistress said in response. They gave each other a hug, much to the surprise of the watching students. As Harry walked outside, he saw why they risked it. The witch was almost as old as Dumbledore was, with frail, pale skin that shone with the power of her magic.

"Headmistress Elberta Franklin, may I introduce the Hogwarts Dragons. Captain, Cedric Diggory, Chasers, Angelina Johnson, Katie Bell and Stephanie Harlow, Beaters, Vincent Crabbe and Gregoria Goyle, and our Seeker, Harry Potter."

As he introduced them, each player in turn bowed from the waist as if to a Dame, which was exactly what the Headmistress of Salem was. The Eastern Confederation of America followed almost the same exactly model England did, with males in the magical congress speaking on behalf of their Coven Dames, while the dames themselves sat in Sabbat.

Two brilliant violet eyes shining with magic studied Harry intently. "Ahh, yes, the prodigy child. A male Omniglot, and tactile Aether. If he could sing and dance, I daresay he'd be perfect."

Harry smiled weakly, but Angelina thought this was hilarious. "Trust us, Headmistress, do NOT ask that boy to sing. It will make your ears bleed."

"Well, perfect is boring I suppose," Franklin said. "Hogwarts students, welcome to Salem Witch's Institute. I would be pleased to walk you to the pitch. After the game, we hope you will join us for a meal before you leave."

"It would be our honour," Dumbledore said. "It has, after all, been too long since we had a chance to speak."

The two ancient witch-born led the way in a patience-stretching walk around the island toward the Quidditch Pitch, while the witches of the institute watched them silently. "Cor blimey," Fred muttered from the reservist squad that never got introduced, "I feel like a bloody piece of meat in front of a pride of lions."

Harry didn't say anything, but he had to agree. The witches watched with such intensity he could feel their magic washing against his. He raised his Occlumency barriers as best he could and wished they were back at Hogwarts, where at least the risks were known.

Eventually, though, they reached the universal familiarity of the Quidditch Pitch. As the visitors, they were given two hours to warm up and familiarize themselves with the facilities. The weather was perfect for Quidditch. It was cool enough to make them want to move without being so cold it was hard to concentrate.

They were just finishing their warm-ups when people started arriving in the stands, which like Hogwarts looked to have recently been expanded to accommodate more spectators. They retreated to their dressing rooms to await the start of the game, listening from inside as the _Witchers_ were introduced.

Their turn came and they flew out in formation, doing the customary lap around the pitch before assuming their spots opposite their opponents.

Harry did not know for sure what he expected, but given that Salem's was an all-girl school, he rather thought the team would be comprised of pretty girls like Katie or Angelina.

Instead, he found himself facing a team of Gregoria Goyles. All seven girls were bigger than he was, with strong arms and legs hidden within their all-black uniforms. Moreover, they looked _mean_—meaner than the Durmstrang players, easily.

What followed was a rough game easily on par with anything the Slytherins dished out. The Salem players played dirty and rough, but much like the Slytherins they tended to concentrate more on the strength of their play rather than the finesse. While the Hogwarts Chasers were smaller and not nearly as physically strong as their counterparts, they were significantly faster, and more graceful.

For the first hour of play, Salem kept pace with them, but into the second hour Hogwarts started to pull away as their more skillful play overcame the home team's brute force as the _Witchers_ began to tire. Harry did his part, driving the opposing Chasers insane with shouting dives and interceptions in which he'd kick the Quaffle away. Their Seeker was not as well versed in the various roles a Seeker played and could not do the same.

When at last the snitch showed itself into the third hour, Hogwarts had a commanding hundred point lead. Harry easily beat the Salem Seeker, who probably out massed Krum, and Hogwarts finished the game with a resounding victory.

The press conference that followed concentrated mainly on the Americans. One or two reporters asked vague questions about what it was like to visit America which Cedric answered with the appropriate humility and self-confidence that epitomized the British in American minds, and then the rest of the session was spent grilling the girls about the game, and their up-coming match against the all-boys Miskatonic University of Magic.

It felt nice not to be the center of attention, Harry admitted.

The tour of the school was the most enjoyable part of their trip. The school was actually founded by Professor Franklin herself, who it turned out was the granddaughter of the famed American wizard Benjamin Franklin. Given that Franklin evidently left offspring across the country, it was not surprising that one of his daughters would be by a witch, nor the granddaughter that followed.

Headmistress Franklin was born in 1780, four years after the official formation of the United State as a country. She founded the Salem Witch's Institute in 1808 after attending Hogwarts, which was what all upper-class New England witches of the time did. While the school was just a fraction of Hogwarts' age, the house had a feeling of time, patience and class, all of which Harry knew must have come from its one and only headmistress.

The dining hall was simply elegant, lined with mahogany panelling on the walls and ceiling, with glittering chandeliers of Tiffany crystal. Like Hogwarts, the school was divided along the four elemental leanings of magic, with each house named after Native American tribes: Wampanoag, Mohegan, Abenaki and Penobscot. Any of the magical blood of the tribes was absorbed into the immigrant witch-born, who had to be careful to hide themselves from the earliest religious colonists.

The meal was somewhat different than Harry what had experienced before—lobster, crab cakes and thick chowder served in hollowed out loaf of sourdough bread. It was, however, absolutely delicious and he consumed every bite while Franklin and Dumbledore reminisced about the peculiarities of the Nineteenth Century and the first time either of them ever saw a Muggle automobile. Franklin had grand time talking about her passing friendship with Henry Ford.

Midway through the meal, Harry looked up from a delicious pudding to see a girl perhaps his own age or younger walking up to the head table where both Quidditch teams sat on either side of their heads. The girl had dark, almost oil-black skin but startling yellow eyes; she spoke softly to her headmistress before the old witch and Dumbledore both nodded.

With that permission, the young witch walked down the guest table before she stood in front of Harry. "Mr Potter," the girl said in a nervous voice, "my name is Tracy White. I read in the paper a week or so ago that you were a magical Omniglot. I was wondering…could you talk to my pet to find out what's wrong with him? He's not been acting right and I'm worried. The only Omniglot in the States is in San Francisco, and she charges a fortune."

Harry blinked, looked down at Dumbledore, who nodded, and said, "Okay."

To his shock, the girl reached into her black robes and began to produce a prodigious, three-headed snake of at least seven feet in length. He knew from his Care classes that he was looking at a rare, sentient and terribly dangerous snake called a Runespoor. He listened to the three heads hissing irritably at each other before he smiled.

"Well, the two problems are related," he began cautiously. "One, it's a girl. Her names are Stac, Srak and Shak. And she's pregnant. Shak is telling the other two that they're horribly fat, and the other two are threatening to bite Shak off for being…well, I won't translate that. Anyway, if I remember from class, I think she needs heat, water and at least three mice a day until she lays her eggs."

Tracy stared at him with wide yellow eyes. "She's really pregnant?"

"She is. And she's irritable enough at being handled that she might lose her temper. Tracy, I can see you are handling her well, but Runespoors are very, very dangerous. I'd suggest you put her in a large terrarium, and not try handling her again. One bite from Shak and you'll be dead in a minute. And she's seriously thinking about it just because she's irritated."

Still wide-eyed, Tracy nodded and backed away. "Thank you, Mr Potter." Cradling the three-headed snake carefully, the girl ran from the Dining Hall.

"Well, that solves that problem," Headmistress Franklin said. "She's been trying to hide that creature since she arrived back from Burkina Faso, where she spent her summer. Well done, Mr Potter. Well done."

It was a relief to board the carriage and head back to Hogwarts an hour alter. Salem was a nice place to visit, but Harry decided he definitely would not want to live there. There were just too many hungry-looking girls about.

* * *

sp

sp

**Author's Note**: Very special thanks as always to Teufel1987, JR and Miles for beta reading.


	29. Palm Reading

A/N: Early posting. Chapter 28 review responses are available in my forums. **Additional PSA**: Neither this story, nor its author, advocate the use of controlled substances by adults, or especially minors. The use of cannabis in this story is specific and unique to the circumstances of the world itself and is not an endorsement of drug use.

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Nine: Palm Reading**

When Harry and the team arrived home with news of their victory, it was to a raucous celebration. Each house held a party in their individual common rooms.

In the Gryffindor room, Harry accepted a butterbeer and sat next to Neville as the other boy showed off his brand new wand while the open space in front of the fire provided a dance floor for the older students.

Harry listened to Neville with only half a mind, while he also played a game of picking out who was bonded, and who would bond soon. Of the thirty five seventh years in Gryffindor (which was almost as many students as the ENTIRE fourth year class), twelve were boys. Of those twelve boys, ten were already bonded and five were outright married and living in the married wing. Of those who were not married, it was because they were bonded with older witches who were no longer at Hogwarts. Those boys were the ones who danced and flirted the most, simply because there was no danger of accidentally bonding a second time. Second bondings had to be intentional, and the first wife had to play a role, though Harry was not sure what the role was since that was not something covered in Wizarding Life studies (at least not for the boys). All he knew was a second bonding could not occur without the first bondmate's active cooperation.

The sixth year Gryffindors had 30 students, and ten were boys. Of those, five were already bonded, and two of those were married. The three bonded also had older bondmates.

None of the fifth years were married, but there was one boy who was already bonded to a seventh year girl. The two danced, but the boy did not look particularly happy—or at least not as happy as the girl.

"What are you thinking about?"

Harry blinked back his surprise at finding Neville gone, replaced by Hermione Granger. The moment he saw her face, he envisioned it leaning back in shock and horror as blood gushed down the front of her neck. He felt suddenly dizzy with the vision and turned quickly away.

"Harry?" she asked quietly. She did not whisper, but spoke so softly he could barely hear. "Justine told me about what you saw in Divination class. And she also told me what you said to her after."

"I hate visions," Harry muttered.

Hermione settled into the couch beside him. For a panicked second Harry wondered where Neville was, only to see his friend at the snack bar across the common room, refilling his cup with pumpkin juice while talking animatedly with Ron and Seamus about something Harry could only guess at. It felt as if he'd been thrown to the wolves.

"Harry," Hermione said again, "have you…well, have you had visions like these before?"

Frowning at the memories, Harry said, "Yeah."

"What's it like?"

"It's like someone splitting your head open with a garden trowel and pumping it full of images you don't want to see but can't get rid of."

He glanced at her and was surprised to see a look of horror on her face. "I'd read that but… Justine said you were screaming and had a bloody nose, but I…" She faltered. Her soft voice turned tiny as she stared apprehensively at him. "You saw a Death Eater hurting us both, right?"

"Yeah."

Hermione looked down at her hands, which were folded into each other. It shocked Harry to see how thin her fingers were. "Do you play piano?"

She blinked and looked back up. "How did you know?"

"You have a pianist's fingers, like our music teacher back in primary."

She smiled weakly, but refused to be side tracked. "Harry, do you think You-Know-Who is really dead?"

"Well, yeah, I spoke to his ghost first year. The problem is I don't think he's going to stay dead."

Once again she stared at him in horror. "His ghost? You mean…Professor Quirrell and Professor Burbage?"

"Yeah."

She looked away from him, locking her eyes on the dancing partners. "Does anyone know?"

"Question is; does anyone care?" Harry muttered. "I had a vision of Voldemort possessing a man and killing a witch this summer. Dumbledore said they found the body in August, but because the killer is supposedly a dead man, they're not investigating at all. Does that make sense to you?"

"No," Hermione said in a small voice. "Harry, er, could you do a reading on me? Parvati said that, well, she said that you might. Maybe if you did a reading on me, you might…see something different."

She held out her hand, palm up, and as Harry looked he could almost see the lines of her flesh crawling in anticipation. "Not tonight," he finally forced himself to say. "I'm really tired from the trip and the game—I don't think I could handle it. We're on a by-week next week, so Saturday in the Divination tower."

"What time?"

"Say four in the afternoon," he said. "I don't want to go through the whole day with a headache."

"Okay, thank you, Harry!" She hopped off the couch and moved to a cluster of witches on the far side of the room.

"I'm going to bed," Harry said to no one in particular.

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

Harry absolutely, positively despised strength training. He was, in equal parts shocked and disappointed to find out that Hogwarts had a gymnasium with the most modern equipment available in 1904, which was the manufacture date stamped on the barbells, Indian clubs and a rack for pull ups and inverted stomach crunches.

Fortunately, the equipment came with a manual, and even more fortuitously, Gregoria Goyle, who worked out almost daily. He was at first terrified of the girl—she was bigger than he was (or most other people, for that matter), stronger than he was, and wielded two weapons of mass destruction on her chest that made dictators on the other side of the planet wince in fear.

And yet, within ten minutes of his arriving at the gymnasium and trying to figure out what to do, Gregoria stepped up to show him. She was surprisingly patient when she spoke, and though her appearance was less than beautiful, she had a beautiful, contralto voice that she demonstrated by singing to herself sometimes when she worked out. She favoured the Indian Clubs, flinging the 50-lb, bowling-pin shaped clubs about as if they were toys.

She was the one who started him on the barbells, which unlike their modern equivalents were two empty metal globes on a bar that they filled with conjured lead shot to Harry's limit, which initially wasn't very much.

"You have to start somewhere," Gregoria said with a shrug when he disparaged his physical weakness.

"Why are you down here all the time?" he asked.

Gregoria shrugged. "Where else would I be, upstairs trying to poach the boys? Most run from just the sight of me." She did not sound angry or resentful about it, only that it was a fact of life. "Down here I don't have anyone bothering me, except you."

"I'm sorry."

"It's alright," she said. "You're quiet."

"Thanks, I guess."

So, with Gregoria's help, Harry learned how to weight train turn-of-the-century style. He concentrated mainly on his legs and stomach, since that's where he met with most of the resistance while flying, but he also worked on his arms and upper body until he ached each night. Gregoria never tried to flirt with him or poach him, answered all his questions without any sign of frustration, and even taught him a few routines with the Indian clubs.

Therefore, on the Saturday following the game against Salem and his vision of Justine's mum, he was surprised when she asked him, "So, in your vision, you said the Death Eater used a knife, right?" She didn't need to indicate what vision she was talking about.

Harry dropped the barbell back into place with a grunt and sat up, using a terry cloth towel to wipe his face. "Er, well, yeah, I guess."

"Was it straight-edged or serrated?"

"What?"

"The knife, was it straight-edged or serrated?"

Harry closed his eyes in concentration. "Serrated."

She put the Indian clubs down and walked over to a nearby bench, using a towel similar to his to wipe her own flushed, broad-featured face. "That's good, then."

"What do you mean, that's good?"

"My dad favours straight-edged weapons. I was afraid it might be him you saw."

Harry stared at her, unsure how to respond. "You're dad, he was…"

"Yeah, he was a Death Eater. Most of the Slytherins are Death Eater kids. Some of the really bad ones were sent to Azkaban, but most…well, if you send all the wizards to Azkaban, where will the next generation of purebloods come from? Those who agreed were bonded to the limit of their available magic. Some have even turned around and become successful—Malfoy and Snape, for example."

Harry felt as if he'd been hit in the stomach. "Snape was a Death Eater?"

"Yeah," she said. "Hooch is a real bitch, let me tell you. She rides him hard and doesn't let him even blink without permission, unless Dumbledore asks for it. She's as barren as a rock, and normally when a wife is barren they go through a severance ritual so he can re-bond, but she won't let him."

"You can break a bond? Why didn't anyone ever say that?"

"Because it makes the woman a squib or kills her outright, that's why," she said. "It breaks the bond by breaking her magic at the chakram points of her magical core, so she can't express magic any more. I don't really blame Hooch for not wanting to do it, but supposedly the needs of society outweigh the desires of a witch. Unless that witch is Rolanda Hooch."

For a moment, the sheer knowledge and competence the large girl possessed made her sound more like Granger than the Slytherin destroyer feared throughout the school.

"You don't like her," Harry speculated.

"I like Snape, so of course I don't like Hooch. Sinistra's alright, though. Again, Hooch's choice, but at least she picked a woman Snape respected and appreciated." She stood and walked a little closer, until he could smell the heavy musk of her body, still dripping from her workout. "Look, Potter, I like you well enough, and you're a good Quidditch player, but you and your little Muggleborn friends have no idea what you're getting into. Granger, and that tall girl, Finch-Finley? They're in for it. They'll be lucky to get a spouse, even as a second wife, and they have no hope of a decent job."

"What about you, then?" Harry asked, automatically wanting to defend the other girls.

Gregoria shrugged, and then to Harry's utter shock pulled up her sweats and support to reveal two huge, bulbous breasts. Harry froze and stared as he felt a strange, almost painful pulling from his groin. He was completely frozen before the sight of the mesmerizing mounds.

"See these babies, Potter? I may be ugly, but there are men who'll bond with me for these alone. Probably an older Bulgarian or Rumanian wizard looking for a second wife, but it'll happen. I'm not worried about it right now because I know the Dame of my coven will take care of me." She pulled her shirt down after tucking away her massive breasts. "That's what being in a coven means. And not being in a coven means no support at all."

When at last he could speak again, Harry said, "Why are you telling me this?"

Gregoria sat down next to him, and to his continuing shock, said, "I suppose I like you. You're better than Malfoy or any of the other prats in my year. You've never called me ugly to my face, and they have. So, consider it a friendly warning from your Slytherin teammate. If you bond, make sure it's with a girl who is already in a coven, not Mudbloods like Granger or that tall bint from Hufflepuff. And for Morgana's sake, stay away from Lovegood."

"Lovegood?" Harry blinked and stood, suddenly angry. "Why is everyone telling me to stay away from Lovegood?"

"Everyone?"

"Everyone who counts," Harry amended.

"Well, I don't know about any others, but her mother was a seditionist. She was Xenophilius's only spouse—they refused to take any others, and said that forced polygamy was wrong. They were ejected from their coven and proscribed as a family. That's why Lovegood runs that silly magazine, because he can't find work anywhere else. And her mum…supposedly she died in a potions accident, but there are whispers that their old coven was trying to eliminate a source of embarrassment. Proscribed witches are as good as dead anyway. Luna's damaged goods with a lot of baggage—bond with her, and there's every chance the Dames will forcibly break the bond and still her, or kill her entirely."

"That's…insane."

"That's the way the world works," Gregoria said. "See you at practice tonight."

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

That afternoon, Harry walked into the Divination Tower to find Trelawney sprawled across her Divan in faded blue jeans and half-undone blouse with a thick woollen scarf tossed around her neck and pulled down in a futile effort to hide the fact she hadn't bothered with a bra that morning, smoking a joint and drinking sherry while reading a trashy romance novel. "That looks like one of Professor Lupin's," he said by way of greeting.

"It is, I borrowed it," she answered before taking a drag. "I had a vision you were doing a reading today. Or was that Lavender blabbing? Can't remember. That's why you're here."

"Yeah."

"She paying you?"

"What?"

"Remember what I taught you last year, Potter? There is a price to be paid for the future, and it is expensive. For you it is a price paid in pain and blood, so she needs to pay a price too, either in money or trade. Going rate for a reading by a confirmed, licensed Seer is five galleons."

"That's a lot," he said.

"There aren't that many confirmed licensed seers."

"But I'm not…"

"You are confirmed, Potter," she said dismissively as she sat up, "and there is a license for you on file at the Ministry. Seers tend to lose things so they generally keep the license for you, but it's there. I filled it out myself, and I watched them put it right next to the Oracle sheet you already had in your file."

Harry felt a cold ball in his stomach. "I have a file?"

"All wizards do, Potter," Trelawney said with a put-upon sigh. "Get used to it. And here comes your little pigeon now. Come in, Granger, I don't bite ... Unless you want me to, of course."

Hermione stepped in and waved her hand before her face. "Oh my God!" she said when she saw Trelawney. "I didn't believe Justine or Parvati when they told me, but you are really laying there smoking marijuana in front of a student! And why is your blouse undone?"

"Worse yet, I'm going to offer him a drag to help with your reading," Trelawney said with an unrepentant grin. "And the only reason I'm wearing anything at all is because I knew you were coming." Indeed, she held out the cigarette. "Trust me, Potter, it'll numb the pain."

"You know what? Forget it!" Hermione said. "I don't want to have any part in making you a Dope Head, Harry."

"Granger, you silly nit, don't you know anything about magical physiology?" Trelawney barked irritably. "Weed is no more to us than a drink of whiskey to a Muggle. It is not addictive to us, is not hallucinogenic, and in general just calms us down. So stop being such a ninny and get in here."

Hermione looked as if she were about to explode, but Harry shrugged. "What the hell." He took the lit cigarette and pulled in a great lungful of smoke. He immediately started coughing as he handed it back, but even in the fit of coughing he felt it start to ease some of his tension about the reading.

"You do know that cannabis is used in both the Ordering and Calming potions, right?" Trelawney said, just because she liked rubbing things in people's faces. "Okay, so how much are you prepared to pay Potter for your reading?"

"Pay?"

"Pay, as in money or trade."

Hermione bit her lower lip, thinking furiously. "I'm top of the class in Muggle Studies," she finally said. "I'll loan you all my notes and help you in any subject you need."

Given that he was struggling with the additional work and hectic schedule, Harry considered that very fair. "Okay, I can accept that."

"Good, trade works in some ways better than money," Trelawney said. "Trade usually means more, and personally invests you more with the outcome, increasing the value of the reading."

"I don't mean to be rude, but why are you here, Professor?" Hermione asked tartly. "Other than to flash Harry."

"I've seen bigger," Harry said, already relaxed from the marijuana. "Gregoria flashed me in the weight room to make a point. I think her boobs are bigger than my head."

"Her boobs are bigger than goblins," Trelawney said. "As for you, Granger, one, this is my home. I live in the tower. Two, this is Harry's first reading, and he's the only Department of Mysteries-confirmed Seer in the school who isn't me. So, this is an educational opportunity for him. I'd tell you about Lovegood, but she can't be certified in anything until she graduates. I'm going to use you to teach him how to do a proper, professional reading. Okay, mats on the floor. Remember the mats, Harry. If you get hit hard, you want to be able to lie back without banging your head. Sit down on the mats, both of you."

Looking flustered, Hermione sat down on the mat, carefully arranging the skirts under her robes to completely cover her legs. Harry just plopped down ungainly.

"Okay, Potter," Trelawney said after taking another drag. "First things first: Never, ever, look a customer in the eyes during a real reading. That's something the fakes have to do to try and gauge the person's intent or desire. In your case, their intent or desire could actually dampen your reading. Also, because of your magic, you run the mild risk of accidental bonding."

Hermione's cheeks flared. "Surely you aren't suggesting we could bond just holding hands!"

"Dearie, his mother bonded his father with a single glance. I was a first year when it happened and it was the sole topic of discussion the whole year. It has to do with Aether magic. And you know damned well that if you felt his magic reaching for you, you'd reach right back. I don't need the Sight to read body language."

Hermione's flush ran down to her tie.

"Second rule, don't send that magic of yours into her core," the professor continued to Harry waving the joint around as she talked. "I saw how you did that with Jessica by accident—that can lead to an uncontrolled vision like what broke your globe, and that's not what you're after. You want to be able to direct the sight. So, you're both seated. Potter, always start with the dominant hand first, and then the left. Now, in our books we discuss the differences between Muggle palmistry and true magical palmistry. What are they?"

"The Muggles try to assign meaning to the shape of the hand and the lines of the palm," Harry said. "While I'm going to let the lines of her palm guide me to a vision based solely on magic."

"Precisely. Okay, do you need another drag or are you relaxed?"

"Er, I'm still a little afraid I'm going to look her in the eye and get bonded by accident," Harry admitted.

"Another drag, then." Trelawney bent over, flashing both students in the process.

Hermione frowned severely at Harry for taking another drag off Trelawney's joint, while at the same time flushing at having the older woman's baps hanging right in front of her eyes. Harry, surprisingly, didn't seem to care. He held out his hand, palm-up

"Fine," she said, placing her right hand in his.

To Harry, her hand felt warm and soft, and it was a struggle not to let his magic drift into hers as he turned her fingers over. She had short fingernails, trimmed but well cared for with polish. Her fingers were long with a slightly conical shape to the hand over all.

Of course, like all witch-born, the crease around the ball of her thumb was twice as long as normal, extending in an unbroken line from the soft flesh between thumb and forefinger to her wrist. He also noticed the lines of marriage on the side of her hand, and saw with sudden, intense clarity her pushing her bare chest up at him as her eyes burned and her lips flushed with silent pleasure.

He blinked back the vision, confused on why he experienced it from the perspective he did. "You will bond," he told her. "And there will be love in the relationship. I can't say you'll be entirely happy, but there is love."

She stared intently at the top of his bowed head. "Will I have children?"

"Yes, at least two. But there will also be conflict."

"You mean I'll fight with my bond-mate?"

He stiffened and grabbed her hand so tight she yelped. "Let go!"

"Stop, you nit!" Trelawney hissed. "Look at his face!"

"But you…oh God."

Harry's eyes had rolled up into his head and blood was dripping from his nose. Suddenly he let go and flew back as if struck. Hermione scrambled to his side, while Trelawney reached into his pocket and removed a small wooden box filled with potion phials. She put one to his lips and poured it in even while his body convulsed.

"What's wrong with him?" Hermione asked anxiously.

"He had a major vision," Trelawney said, "which makes no sense for a simple palm reading. The only way that you would induce that is if your fates were linked somehow. Harry, are you with us?"

He squeezed his eyes shut but nodded. "That sucked."

"Want more _ganja_?" She held out the cigarette.

"No, thank you." Given the circumstances, he sounded oddly normal.

"What did you see?" Hermione asked.

"War," he finally said, holding the heels of his hands to his eyes. "Bloody war; and you're in the middle of it. I saw the Death Eater at King's Cross again. I saw you bleeding and Justine on the ground and…. Your parents were in danger too."

Hermione sucked in a breath.

Trelawney just nodded. "Right. Granger, you've had your reading. Remember your agreement." She conjured a pillow and slid it under Harry's head. "Potter, you're not going anywhere for a while."

"Practise…"

"Is cancelled for you. I'll let Diggory know. Just rest, Harry. Believe me, I've been where you are, you'll need it." Trelawney looked up at Hermione. "Why are you still here?"

"I'm worried about Harry, and about what he saw."

"Probabilities, girl, just probabilities. Shift the world just a little, and a different line of probability comes into dominance. Seers cannot tell you the future absolutely, just probabilities. Now get out. Potter needs rest."

Despite herself, Hermione took his hand and this time felt his magic flow into her, just like it did four years ago when they first met. "I'm sorry you were hurt, Harry. Thank you for the reading. Whenever you're ready to study just let me know."

She climbed to her feet and walked out of the tower. As soon as she was gone, Trelawney snickered. "You realize why you had such a strong vision with that girl, don't you, Potter?"

"I don't want to talk about it," Harry said, eyes still closed.

Trelawney took a long drag and finished her smoke, tossing it to an ash tray by the divan. She then removed the pillow, cradling his head with surprising tenderness considering her acerbic tone, until she scooted up behind him with his head on her lap.

"Your breast is in my face," Harry noted with that same detached calm he used with Hermione.

"Nothing wrong with boobs in your face."

"You're not afraid of bonding?"

"Potter, I'm a flaming lesbian, and a better Occlumens than you are. Lily herself taught me when I was a second year and she was a seventh. She used the lessons with me to help formulate some of her points for her book, and we kept in touch even after she left. I just really, really despise bras."

"Oh, okay," he said. "They are very nice."

"Yes, they'll do." She placed her hands on either side of his head and he sighed as a relief even more profound than the potion washed through him. "You are your mother's son, Harry," she said softly. "You have a heavy destiny on your shoulders, but it is not entirely what the Ministry believes. Lily made sure of that. You're not going to have many friends, and more than your share of enemies."

"What about you?"

"Me? Harry, I may be the best friend you have in this school. Well, me and Remus, perhaps. He's a tasty morsel, too bad about his lycanthropy and his being a boy. His mind is lovely. He'll not make it long as a professor with that curse on his shoulders, though."

When the worst of the pain was gone, replaced by an overwhelming exhaustion, Harry felt his eyes closing. "Does Luna take this class?"

She smiled. "She does, Harry. She has her own visions, her own probabilities. And that's why, my boy, no one will ever learn anything about what you see from me, not about that girl, or any others. Now sleep, I'll be here with you when you wake."

"Thanks," Harry managed to say before fading away.

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**Author's Note**: Very special thanks as always to Teufel1987, JR and Miles for beta reading.


	30. Win Some, Lose Some

A/N: Chap 29 Review Responses are available in my forums. Thanks for reading.

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**Chapter Thirty: Win Some, Lose Some**

The Escola Superior de Magia was the oldest school of magic in the Americas. Founded in 1575 by fleeing Portuguese witch-born who felt the need to save the few witch-born among the imported African slaves who were regularly killed, the school originally began in an abandoned native village, before the witches and wizards forcibly occupied a former Portuguese fort situated on an un-plottable reef a mile from Sào Marcelo. In fact it was one of two forts built off the coast to hold off Dutch invaders, though the school itself did not move into the fort until 1650.

Like its sister fort, the Escola Superior was built of stone in a circular structure; however it was three times the size of the Fortaleza de Sào Marcelo. Additional expansion charms on the interior courtyard provided sufficient space for the Quidditch pitch, green houses and magical menagerie common to most magical schools in the world.

Headmistress Lucilaine Aparecida Moreira was not even half Dumbledore's age, which still put her at well over a hundred. She was short, barely even five feet all, but bustled about with the energy of a woman a quarter her age, and with enough power to convince even the staunchest doubter of her position as a dame and headmistress.

Even on the other side of the globe, Covens controlled the ministry. The difference was they did not even bother with a Wizengamot. The government was completely dominated by the Dames who met in what they called _De Coven Superior_, and only those wizards the Dames approved of worked in their Ministry.

The Escola, at least, was co-ed, and so when their carriage arrived from Hogwarts they were not met by a line of black-clad, hungrily-staring girls. Instead, they were met by a collection of brightly-clad young men and women who applauded their arrival with whistles, cheers and an impromptu dance.

Harry originally thought Brazil would be comprised solely of brown-skinned natives, knowing nothing of its history. He was astonished to find the most mixed, cosmopolitan collection of ethnicities in the school he could imagine. There were Germans, Japanese, Italian and French students at the school, though the Portuguese and the descendants of the Africans dominated.

Harry enjoyed the tour, the dancing and the food more than anything else he'd ever done before. He did not, however, enjoy the game.

The Escola Superior _was_ superior, with a devastating Chaser attack that overwhelmed their beaters and left Cedric scrambling. Harry caught the snitch, since in that one area Hogwarts had the advantage, but unfortunately it was just too little too late, and Hogwarts lost by fifty points.

The press conference after the game was entirely in Portuguese. Cedric smiled with the rest, congratulating the other team in halting Portuguese, which got a small round of appreciative applause from the witches in the press corps, but the rest of the conference was above the English students' heads.

The whole trip took a day, long enough to just see the school, but not long enough to really see the country, or learn much about the culture. Harry vowed to return one day, but probably as a Muggle under the Veil.

Their return to Hogwarts brought the first snow of the season, and a reminder that they only had one more game before the holiday break.

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

The Beauxbatons Quidditch team arrived on the morning of the second Saturday in December in a pastel blue, Cinderella-style carriage drawn by a team of four giant winged horses. "They're called Abraxans," Hermione helpfully supplied to his question.

In the days after her palm reading, Hermione acted somewhat cold and abrupt around Harry, until Wednesday when Harry approached her little group in the Common Room about a chemistry problem he could just not figure out. Jessica and Leah were both a part of her study group, while Parvati, Lavender and Lilith Moon were noticeably absent. He knew the other Gryffindor girls had formed their own study trio.

"Take a seat," Hermione said matter-of-factly. "Now, what are we looking at?"

Harry's shoulders slumped. "I just don't understand the chemical formula stuff. What is binary ionic, or polyatomic ionic?"

His expression must have been funny, because Jessica giggled. Hermione, however, launched right in. "Those are types of molecules, and they're important because chemical formulas are written with rules based on each type. Let's start with Type 1, binary ionic…"

After that, he noticed her attitude warm significantly as they started working together over the various Muggle Study subjects. He thought she was a little disappointed to find he was doing well in his core magical classes, and was actually outperforming her in Defence, Care and Potions. But in the Muggle subjects, she was not just the top of their class, but was the highest ranked in the whole school.

Now, she stood next to him, Angelina and Katie as they watched the carriage and on the snow-covered causeway that led to the main entrance of the castle and its courtyard. The causeway was broad enough for two of the Hogsmeade carriages to pass by with room to spare, but to a hurtling, flying-horse drawn carriage, it seemed a precarious place to land.

The driver of the carriage nailed the landing, and Harry couldn't help but sigh in relief as the carriage drove into the courtyard surrounded by students, while Dumbledore and the staff waited at the entrance itself.

The carriage door opened and a witch in a heavy, pastel-blue cloak that perfectly matched the carriage climbed out. She was a striking woman, with large, broad features that actually reminded him of a thinner, more elegantly refined Gregoria. She was tall for a woman, but not remarkably so. She stepped forward as Dumbledore did the same; they did not hug as he had with the American witch, but instead he gave a courtly bow from the waist, while she performed a text-book curtsy. "Madame Maxime!"

"Monsieur Dumblydorrree!" she said, slaughtering his name and yet still sounding perfectly elegant while doing so. "I present the pride of Beauxbatons, the Abraxans!"

Fourteen students ranging in age from fifteen to eighteen stepped out of the carriage, four boys, ten girls, and every single one of them was beautiful. Even the boys looked…well, not beautiful, but ridiculously handsome.

"Oh goodness," Hermione breathed.

"Those boys look good enough to eat," Angelina said.

Harry, though, was looking at their magic and shook his head. "Sorry, ladies, they're taken."

"Even the little one?" Katie Bell whined.

"Yeah, even the little one."

"How can you tell?" Hermione asked. Unlike Angelina and Katie, who after three full years of Quidditch had come to learn a little about how his magic worked, this was actually the first year Hermione had any time with him at all.

"I can see the bonds," he said. "None of the boys are bonded with the girls on the team. Some of the girls are bonded too, except…"

Hermione, Angelina and Katie all turned to look at him when he went silent and saw with alarm how he was staring, his jaws gaping and his whole face flushing red. They were about to say something to him when on the opposite side of the French, another Hogwarts student fainted dead away to the snickers and catcalls from some of the students standing nearby.

Hermione stared, recognizing the girl as Luna Lovegood—the only other Aether in class.

In a flash of insight that would be important for years to come, Hermione said, "Oh Morgana, there must be a Veela in there. Girls, grab him and turn him around, now!"

Angelina did even better—she slapped him, hard and loud enough that even the French students turned to stare, only to see Angelina shaking Harry and say, "Snap out of it!"

The three girls pulled Harry out of the crowd, followed moments later by Cedric and Neville. In desperation, the girls pulled him toward the Hospital Wing, only to be intercepted by Professor McGonagall, who was actually running after them. "No, not in there!" she said. "That's where Professor Flitwick took Ms Lovegood. No, let's take him up to the tower."

"I don't get it, what's wrong with him? He's acting drunk!" Neville said.

"She's _soooooooooo _beautiful!" Harry sang, horribly. His voice warbled between that of a boy and that of a very tone-deaf man.

"Was I right, Professor?" Hermione said. "That blonde girl who came out last, was she a Veela?"

"Yes, it appears so," McGonagall said curtly. "How did you know?"

"I saw Lovegood pass out and realized it was an Aether thing, and then I remembered Professor Lupin covering sentient creatures. There was a long discussion about the Veela colonies on the continent and their struggle for equal rights, and why they were having such a difficult time with the fight."

"Well done, Ms Granger!" McGonagall said. "Twenty points to Gryffindor for keeping our star Seeker from involuntarily bonding with the French!"

"Involuntary?" Neville gulped.

They reached the empty Gryffindor Common room and placed Harry on the couch. "It's a function of Veela magic," Hermione explained. "Veela are always female, and the magic breeds true. They are sexual predators, closely associated with _succubae_ but without the lethality. Their magic will actually shift its elemental leaning to match whichever male is closest, making them able to bond anyone to them. And unlike normal witches, they can bond multiple men. That's why they've been so discriminated against over the years—they're a threat to the covens."

"And it just so happens that to an Aether, their magic is perfect, since it is able to simulate each elemental leaning," McGonagall said. "I dare say if Ms Lovegood hadn't passed out, she would have bonded to Ms Delacour as surely as Harry would have."

"Delacour?" Harry asked, blinking up at McGonagall. "Like that reporter from our first game? Will she come here? Do you think she would kiss me?"

"Quite probably," McGonagall said. She then pointed her wand and jabbed at him. "_Stupefy_."

A small spark of red light hit him and he fell back into the couch, comatose. "Well, that does it," McGonagall said. "Diggory, are you still here?"

"Here, Professor," he said.

She nodded. "Mr Diggory, Ms Johnson, Potter cannot play. Ms Delacour is the Seeker on the French team. We had papers from the French Ministry explaining her status as a student, which means we cannot legally ask for her to not play. I know you selected Ms Chang as Mr Potter's reserve, but I know you are also a Seeker."

"Cho's better," Cedric said quickly.

"I agree," Angelina said. "And if we need, my back up Donna has played Seeker too."

"What does this do for us?" McGonagall asked.

Angelina's frown was worried. "They're good, Professor, but Delacour herself is an unknown. She wasn't on any of the Omniocular recordings we scouted, so she didn't play last year, or even in their first two games this year."

McGonagall blinked. "Why…I wonder if they have her on the team solely because of her effect on Harry?"

Cedric looked at Angelina, who shrugged. "Who knows how the French think? But if that's the case, we might be able to juggle the lineup. If they sub players, we can do the same, and just make sure Harry isn't in the air whenever she is."

"Fine," McGonagall said. "He should have a box of potions on him for…other reasons. One of them is a calming draught. Make sure he takes one before the game."

"You know, this Aether business seems a lot more trouble than it's worth," Cedric said. "First he misses a practice because of a vision, and then this."

"Many people dream of unique powers," McGonagall said, "but few bother to consider the price that comes with it. Now, let's see what we can do to win this game, shall we?"

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

Within the first five minutes of play, Harry knew that Fleur Delacour was a weapon aimed right at him. He did not actually watch her directly, but instead watched her teammates who seemed caught off guard by not playing against Harry Potter. The distraction opened a door for Angelina, Katie and Stephanie Harlow, while Vincent and Gregoria had a field day taking pot-shots at the opposing players.

Fleur Delacour was simply not a good Quidditch flyer. She was great on fast straightaways and had good posture, at least according to Terri Boot, one of the Chaser Reservists. "But look at how wide her turn radius is. She's really shaky on the quick manoeuvres. This girl's never played Quidditch before in her life, I bet. She flies more like a broom racer, you know, like they have on the continent for the rich, snobby types?"

Harry was forced to agree, since he dared not look the French Veela directly.

"They've raised a sub-flag!" Fred Weasley said. "Yep, they're taking Delacour out. Harry, go!"

Within minutes of Fleur leaving the game, Harry and Cho Chang switched places, grinning widely at each other. The moment he was in the game, Harry started to mercilessly hound the opposing Chasers, not even bothering to look for the Snitch. He played harder, and in truth, meaner than he had ever played before, but he took all the anger for the French team's duplicity out on the Quaffle, scoring ten steals within the first thirty minutes of his play.

When the French team subbed again and brought Fleur back into the game, Harry and Cho quickly switched places again. From the frustrated expressions on the opposing player's faces, Harry knew they had figured out exactly what the English were doing.

What should have been a game of skill and tactics turned into a farce of musical chairs, with each team subbing out its Seekers on a regular basis, until finally the French team decided having an inadequate Seeker was more desirable then letting their opponents have an excellent Seeker.

Unfortunately for the French, Cho Chang was not a bad Seeker by any stretch. While she did not have Harry's skill and instinct in disrupting plays, she had enough experience to be able to do some damage, and that edge in experience and skill made all the difference. Though the Beauxbatons Chasers were actually very good, they lost so much ground because of their machinations they were unable to make up the difference before Cho caught the snitch far away from an oblivious Fleur Delacour, ending the game with a resounding victory over the much-favoured French team.

The real fireworks, though, didn't happen until the press conference. Headmaster Dumbledore, with a pleasant smile on his lips and a blast of arctic chill in his blue eyes, flamboyantly conjured a blind next to Harry, pointedly preventing him from looking at the French team on the other side of the table.

More interestingly, Madame Maxime actually looked fairly embarrassed, and bowed in a subservient fashion to the ancient wizard. The press watched the whole thing in rapturous silence, sensing a wonderful, titillating story shaping up right before their eyes. Naturally, it was Rita Skeeter who began. "Headmaster Dumbledore, for those of us not entirely informed about the mechanics of Quidditch, could you help me understand why the Seekers for both teams were switching so often? Is that normal?"

"My dear, I haven't played Quidditch since eighteen hundred and five, a game which ended in time for me to attend a most scintillating premier of a piece I believe is now known as the _Eroica_ in the _Theater an der Wien_. While Beethoven was a temperamental Muggle to be sure, his music is truly timeless."

Skeeter opened her mouth to speak, closed it, and then turned to Cedric. "Mr Diggory, perhaps an explanation from this century?"

Cedric normally had a huge smile plastered on his face for these things, but Harry saw that even the indefatigable Cedric Diggory was upset. "Well, it seems our opponents decided to make a last-minute substitution to their roster, adding a Veela to their Seeker position."

The uproar from the press surprised even Harry. Witches from the English press corps shot to their feet, faces red with indignation, and began shouting at their French counterparts for daring to bring a magical _creature_ as a student.

At which point Monsieur Delacour, representing the French corps, stood up and set off a loud popping sound with his wand. "Ladies and gentlemen!" he shouted, "Fleur is an enrolled student of Beauxbatons in her last of seven years of study. She was granted an exemption to the law years ago and has never had any issues as a student. Why does it become an issue because this little boy can't control himself?"

This just caused more shouting, until Dumbledore's voice blasted through the tent. "BEHAVE!"

Witches and wizards sat down as if spanked at the display of not just volume, but the sheer magical power behind the words. To Harry, it felt like sunlight on his skin. He watched as Dumbledore's projected aura of fiery magic swept across everyone, almost compelling them to do as he demanded.

Into the sudden, deafening silence that followed, the Headmaster said, "Thank you. Madame Maxime would like to address today's events."

"Thank you," the woman said in a clear enough accent. Harry realized she had originally slaughtered Dumbledore's name intentionally, because she spoke plainly enough now. "Anyone who has studied Veela understands the effects they can have on certain segments of the magical population. Beauxbatons had an Aether student who was a fourth year when Ms Delacour started, and we had to keep them strictly separated for fear of a same-sex bonding. It is an established fact that Aethers have no defence against the Veela allure, and to my shame I knew this when our team captain suggested adding her onto the team to counteract the Hogwarts Seeker. As Headmistress, this was my decision, and I accept the blame for any harm done. Mr Potter, on behalf of myself and Beauxbatons Academy of Magic, I offer you my sincere apologies, and hope that you can find it in your heart to forgive us."

Every eye turned to Harry, and he flushed beet red. "Well, er, okay, I-I forgive you."

While not exactly a ringing pronouncement of forgiveness, the French headmistress accepted it. "Thank you, Mr Potter."

"This was especially unfortunate given that the Beauxbatons team is otherwise quite skilled," Cedric said. "We reviewed Omniocular recordings of their games, just as I'm sure they did of our games, and they fielded a really solid group. I think their efforts to negate Harry actually ended up losing the game for them."

"Harry's an important part of the team," Angelina said, "but he's only a part of the whole."

"That's right," Harry said. "Cho Chang stepped in an hour before the game and flew brilliantly. I don't know about the rest of the team, but I feel relieved to know that if anything happens to me, there's a witch as skilled as she is, ready to take over."

"Absolutely," Cedric said. "She represents the best of Ravenclaw House here at Hogwarts. She's a brilliant, tactical flier and a great addition to the team." He turned and made a show of applauding, causing Cho to blush furiously even as she smiled with a touch of longing at Cedric.

With Maxime's seemingly heartfelt apology and Cedric's skilful redirection, the rest of the conference went on with a minimum of drama, however immediately after Madame Maxime made her excuses to Dumbledore and led her team off immediately to return to France, skipping the planned tour of the school and joint meal after.

They were not missed, and in fact may have avoided possible violence in leaving early. When Harry and the rest of the players returned to the castle, they found the students in an uproar as loud as that in the conference. In Gryffindor, Ginny Weasley especially was shouting at the bloody "Frogs" and their stupid, dirty, underhanded tricks.

"Gee, I think she took it personally," Neville muttered with a grin.

"Yeah, I wonder why?" Harry said.

Still, a win was a win, and once the indignation died down, the party started. Harry was on his second butterbeer and feeling very mildly buzzed when Professor McGonagall stepped into the room and gathered him and the rest of the players and led them down the narrow hall to her office. "Have a seat," she said sternly as she walked around her desk.

"What's this about, Professor?" Angelina asked.

"A surprise social function," McGonagall said. "There is to be a ball in Geneva for all the participating teams and their partners. I have been led to believe it is a matter of social standing that a partner is expected, and not a partner from the team. For instance, Ms Bell, you and Mr Potter would not be appropriate partners because of your status as teammates. Likewise, Ms Johnson, I'm afraid you and Mr Weasley would not be appropriate. The Ball is to be held on the Winter Solstice. Attire will be strictly formal, and given the political nature of the ball, the Department of Magical Cooperation will be financing your attire."

"A free formal dress?" Katie's eyes went wide. "Really?"

"Not just for you, but your partner," McGonagall said. "Once you have your partners selected, please meet after classes this coming Friday for an introduction to dance. Dancing is NOT optional."

As she spoke, Harry felt like sinking deeper and deeper into his chair. "I don't know how to dance," he finally said.

"Which is why we will be having classes," McGonagall said. "I am truly sorry for the short notice—it was the brainchild of the department head. The man is a disgrace, I'll tell you that much. But it's been agreed on by the other schools, so we are going as well. I don't need to tell you all that you are to be on your best behavior."

"We will, Professor," Angelina said.

"Good. Now get back to your party and enjoy yourselves. I'll provide more information this Friday as it becomes available. Good night."

Harry walked back to the party feeling as if he was walking to his execution.

"Bad luck, that," Georgina laughed as she viciously hit his shoulder. "So many birds, which one to choose?"

"Indeed, it's a quandary," Fred said. "Reckon Belinda'll go with me? I heard she has some pretty nifty tan lines."

Harry rolled his eyes, but didn't let the joke distract him from the real problem—who the hell was he going to ask?

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**Author's Note**: Very special thanks as always to Teufel1987, JR and Miles for beta reading.


	31. A Dangerous Dance

A/N: Chap 30 Review Responses are in my forums. Thanks for reading.

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**Chapter Thirty-One: A Dangerous Dance**

Three days after word leaked about the Ball, Ginny Weasley walked up to Harry in the common room and said, in a no-nonsense tone, "You're taking me."

Harry stared at her in horror, trying desperately to voice some objection as to why he couldn't take her, when in truth he hadn't figured out who he could ask yet. He managed to make a few squeaking noises before Angelina Johnson proved that she really was his friend.

"Sorry, Gin-Gin," she said, echoing Fred's pet name for the youngest Weasley, "Fourth years and above only. In fact they wanted to make it Fifth Years only, except of course for Harry. I understand there's going to be real firewhisky there." Then to make Ginny even more upset, she added, "not to mention lots of hungry, randy, un-bonded witches. There just isn't room for a third-year girl. Sorry."

Ginny stared pure hatred at the older Chaser. "I can't understand why Fred likes you, you… cow!"

"Hell, Gin, you just saw _why_ I like her," Fred crowed, moving in to give his girlfriend a kiss on the cheek. "'Cause that was just brilliant."

"Indeed, that deserves a kiss!" Georgina added, moving in to kiss Angelina's other cheek, while Ginny continued to stare daggers at them.

Ginny finally turned back to Harry. "Is that true, about the Third years?"

Too relieved and yet fearful to speak, Harry just nodded his head. Ginny's eyes welled with tears. She stamped her foot, and then turned and ran from the common room. When she was gone, Harry slumped onto Neville's shoulders. "Why do I feel like I just avoided a fate worse than death?"

"That's my sister you're talking about," Ron said, looking up from his chess match with Seamus.

"So where were you when I needed you?" Harry demanded.

"Are you barmy? That girl's crazy."

The twins laughed uproariously, while Angelina looked appraisingly at Harry. "You know this is a political event, right?" she finally asked him.

Harry stared at her blankly a moment. "What do you mean? I thought it was just a dance."

Georgina rolled her eyes and then hit his shoulder, hard. "Dunderhead! It's a ball at the headquarters of the International Confederation of Wizards. And where there are Elders…"

"There are Coven Dames," Fred said. "And where there are Dames and Elders in the same room…"

"There is politics," Angelina finished. "Morgana's nipples, you two, you're both starting to wear off on me. I feel dirty all of the sudden." Both twins kissed her cheeks and laughed. "Point is, Harry, you need to take someone who can actually help you. Someone who's studied enough about the ICW to tell you who people are and…"

She continued talking, but the word 'study' started a chain of thought in his head that continued to roll into a monstrous idea that went against Gregoria Bulstrode's advice, and would likely offend many of the pure-blooded covens. It was perfect, but…

"Er, right, I have an idea now. Thanks, Angelina. Who are you taking, by the way?"

"George Fassbender," she said.

"Who's that?" Harry asked.

"The first boy she saw in the Great Hall," Fred said with a laugh. "Kid looked like she'd just slapped him. Walked up just like Ginny did and told him he was going with her."

"Where do you think Ginny got the idea?" Angelina said haughtily.

"How about the rest of you guys?" Harry asked.

"Lee for me," Georgina said in a sing-song voice.

"Belinda Hopkins, of course," Fred said with a shrug.

"New dress and all, to show off her tan lines," Georgina said, smirking.

Eventually the three of them broke off and Neville took the next game of wizarding chess after Seamus lost to Ron. It was just after dinner, so Harry had a few hours until curfew. With a last look around the room, he grabbed his satchel, told whoever was listening that he was going to the library, and left the tower.

When he reached his destination, he knocked until he heard a voice say, "What do you want, Potter?"

He didn't even ask how she knew who he was. "Are you dressed?"

"Does it matter?" came the response through the door.

Harry sighed. "No, I guess not. I was hoping I could ask you a question."

The door opened to reveal Sybil Trelawney in a sheer silk robe that barely covered her long, lanky body. Her hair was tied up in a ponytail and she had a tumbler of sherry in her hand. She also had a trail of blood running down from her nose and dark circles under her eyes. Harry blinked in alarm. "Do you need a pain potion?"

"Already took one," she said in a distant tone. "Come in, then."

She stumbled after him as he stepped into the Divination classroom. A wireless sat in a corner playing a song he didn't recognize, and the air hung heavy with incense and marijuana smoke. "Professor, is marijuana really harmless to magicals?"

"Unfortunately," she muttered as she walked in and collapsed onto her divan. She didn't bother to cover her nethers, and Harry had a good glimpse of female anatomy. He blushed and fought against the natural reaction. Trelawney either did not notice, or care. "When I was a teenager, I heard some of the Muggleborns talking about drugs, including your mum. Evidently your aunt dropped acid when she was in her teens. Anyway, I went and tried anything I could get my hands on. Anything to make the visions go away. Know what it did?"

"What?"

"It made me sleepy," Trelawney said, almost moaning at the thought. "All those wonderful, vision-free trips I could have taken, and the drugs did nothing to me. Some of our magic is instinctual, Harry. Like when you fall a great distance and bounce instead of breaking. I honestly don't know anything about how the drugs work, only that they don't work on us. That's why there is no law in the Ministry to control them. It's also why families like the Malfoys can grow and sell poppy plants and marijuana and make a fortune off the Muggles by selling drugs to them."

She leaned her head back against the divan and with an already red-stained kerchief wiped the blood from her nose. "I saw you and Granger dancing in formal robes."

"So you think I should ask her?"

"You _will_ ask her," Trelawney said.

"Do you think asking her is…well, do you think I'm the reason for that Death Eater going after her?"

"If I say yes, will you ask her anyway?"

Harry opened his mouth to say no immediately, but the words caught in his throat. He desperately threw his mind out for other people he could ask. He thought of Justine, but she was also in the vision. "I wonder if I could ask Jessica Rivers," he wondered aloud.

"Half blood—it would be worse for her than for Hermione," Trelawney said. "They'd kill her and her Mum."

"Susan Bones?"

"Danger of bonding, but also it would link her aunt to you, and we're not ready politically for that."

"We?"

"You'll find out soon enough."

"I suppose Parvati or Lavender."

"They would look very pretty on your arm, to be sure," Trelawney drawled.

Harry bowed his head. "Professor," he finally said, "I heard that…mum knew she was going to die. I've seen Hermione and Justine die—if Mum couldn't stop it, how can we save Hermione and Justine?"

The half-naked woman blinked up at him with her lips drawn in a frown. "Harry, your mum could have saved herself. She could have played the game and maybe won some space, but that's not what she wanted. She made a choice; it was a hard choice for both of you. For her, the loss of her life and a man she did genuinely like; but more importantly, for you because you would not have her in your life. What you saw with Hermione and Justine, though—you saw a consequence of certain choices, but have you seen the consequences of saving them?"

"I don't…."

"Your mum saw what would happen if she lived, Harry. She saw the life you would have as one of several kids born from several wives, and more important she saw what would happen to our world if she did what she was supposed to do. She saw beyond her death, and made her choices based on that. But you saw probability based on current events—have you seen what happens if you change those events?"

"No, I don't know how to see that well…"

"No, I suppose not, that's why you're in my class," she whispered. "Those girls are going to fight for their lives whether you ask them or not. You saw them so closely because they _are_ going to be a part of your life. Taking the action to put them in danger is almost unavoidable; but not taking action to save them…that will be the true crime."

"You've seen it?"

"I've seen too much," she said, and the sheer hopelessness in her voice made Harry's breath catch.

"What do I do?"

"Granger is already in danger, Harry. She's a revolutionary. She doesn't like the system any more than you do, and she's already trying to change things. She thinks she is being smart about it, but she doesn't realize how deep the conspiracy goes. Asking her will simply put you next to a woman you _know_ you're going to bond with regardless."

Harry remembered his vision of her; of the way she looked at him as she thrust her bare chest up toward him.

"Have you…have you seen me?"

Her smile was sad. "Harry, I've been watching you since before you were born. Why do you think I forced your schedule change? We had to meet. This year is going to be the start. Remember your friends, but also remember that not everything is as you think."

He nodded, accepting the warning as it was intended. Then, to his own surprise, he leaned forward and kissed her cheek. Their magic meshed for a brief moment before their mutual Occlumency barriers forced it apart. "Thank you, Professor."

"Harry, when I'm half-naked, drunk and alone, you can call my Sybil."

Smiling wryly, Harry said, "I'll remember that. Thank you, Sybil. Now come on, let's get you to bed."

It was an interesting experience to help a half-naked, thoroughly drunk older woman to bed. He could not help but touch her, and she did not seem to care in the slightest. And yet, after the first flush of embarrassment, he did not feel any sexual attraction to her at all. Rather, he felt slightly protective of her, like a brother or father.

Or perhaps a son… He finally helped her back to her chambers and into bed. Her room was a small chamber with an enchanted wardrobe, a vanity, her bed, a night table and the nearby water closet and bath. The walls were plastered, and the plaster was covered in what looked like pencil drawings. After he had her tucked into bed and snoring, he went and started looking at the drawings.

His eyes narrowed as he saw a stunningly accurate drawing of him and Hermione dancing in a vast hall, the details of which were lost in the background. Another portrait was of a heartbreakingly familiar woman holding a wand to her own chest as she stood between a crib and a bloodied, battle-torn wizard with handsome features warped by rage and darkness.

Another was of Headmaster Dumbledore, his face caught in an expression of serene calm, falling through the air while his robes whipped around him. Harry moved down the wall until he found a portrait of a girl he had never seen up close before, and yet he felt a profound, almost shocking sense of recognition.

The portrait was of a fully nude body; she stood in what looked like Harry's bedroom, with one hand shyly covering her nethers and another across her chest, shielding the small swells of her breasts. Her head was angled down, and the delicate shading of the pencil lead made her look as if she were flushing furiously, and yet even so her eyes were facing forward. Moreover, it was a life-sized drawing with exquisite detail, down to freckles, and a mole under her left breast where her fingers did not cover it. Her eyes pierced his and he felt such a profound sense of familiarity it seemed as if she were breathing and about to reach out to him. On her head was a silver circlet with a crown of the three-phased moon.

"She's going to change the world," a voice said from the bed.

Harry spun around, embarrassed to be caught looking at what had to be his teacher's private visions. "What?"

"She is going to change the world," Trelawney said absently. She wasn't even looking at Harry; somehow she just knew.

"How?"

"By changing you," Trelawney said. "But not yet. She's not old enough, not yet. Soon, though. Very, very soon."

"What do you mean?"

He was answered with a snore; Trelawney was deeply, soundly asleep. With a last look at the beautiful portrait, Harry left his Divination teacher and the tower altogether. He removed his father's map, which he never left the tower without, and saw that Luna was safely in Ravenclaw Tower for a change. Hermione, however, was in the library with Justine Finch-Fletchley.

When he reached his fellow fourth-years, they were just finishing up with their work. Justine looked up at him and smiled wanly before nudging Hermione. The other girl also smiled, her cheeks turning pink. Like Justine, it was a strained smile. "Hello, Harry," Hermione said. "It's a little late to be coming into the library, isn't it? I think it's going to close in a few minutes."

"Er, well, I actually came to find you."

Hermione's cheeks fairly glowed. "How did you know I was in the library?"

"Because you weren't in the Common Room?"

Justine chuckled. "He's got you there, Hermione. Well, I think this is a conversation that doesn't need a third. I'll see you later." She brushed past Harry's shoulder as she walked away, swaying her hips as she left.

"So, Harry," Hermione began, "what did you want to talk about?"

"Can we sit?"

She nodded and the two say at a table, while around them the few students in the library began putting away their own books. "Er, well, I guess I wanted to ask you how you're doing in Wizarding Life."

"Oh, fairly well, I believe," Hermione said. "I'm looking forward to the mandatory government class in sixth year. I've already read about the different covens of the Sabbat, and the ICW is rather fascinating when you consider it."

"Well, that's good, I suppose," Harry said. He felt like he did that morning before his very first game. "Hermione, I…well, you see…it's just that… there's a ball, you see, and I…"

"Yes," she said quickly, so fast he didn't even hear her.

"…I needed to ask…"

"Yes, Harry. I'd be honoured to go with you. If that's what you're asking, I mean."

Harry blinked and stared a moment. "Really?"

"Yes, really."

Harry smiled in relief, but then remembered his conversation earlier with Trelawney. "Wait, before you get too excited, there's something you should know."

She leaned forward, blushing prettily. "What, Harry?"

He looked around the library, and then rubbed the back of his neck. "I…you know what, this isn't the best place to talk. Can you come with me?"

"Sure." She agreed very fast, but Harry was too distracted to notice. The two left the library and started walking not toward the tower, but toward the Astronomy tower. Since the Astronomy Professor used charms to simulate the night sky during class, they had yet to actually have to use the tower, but every student knew where it was.

Hermione felt her cheeks burning as she followed Harry up the steps. "Er, Harry, do you know where you're going?"

"Yeah."

They arrived up on the tower and Harry couldn't help but sigh in relief to find it empty of newly bonded couples. "Er, Fred and Georgina told me that the school purposely doesn't have any listening or monitoring charms up here."

Hermione's nervous smile faltered. "You mean…there are charms elsewhere?"

"Yeah, I think so. But they don't want to keep kids from bonding, not really."

"Is that…is that why you asked me up here, Harry?"

"Wait, what?" Harry blinked and saw her blushing furiously. "No! No, I just needed to talk to you without anyone listening. Look, I didn't know who I was going to ask, but Angelina made a point I hadn't even thought of. This ball, it's going to be really political. I'm going to need help—someone who knows what I should say or not say, or at least who is who. But the thing is, when I talked to Sybil…"

"Oh, is it Sybil now?" Hermione asked archly. "Get on a first name basis while taking a drag on your marijuana cigarettes?"

"Hermione, I think you coming with me might be a part of what leads to you…well, the vision I had."

The judgmental frown deepened. "What do you mean?"

"I don't know everything, but Sybil said you were a revolutionary, but that you didn't know… how bad things really were. Point is you're a Muggleborn. If you go with me, all those ICW Dames won't be happy. Just coming might be why they come after you."

Hermione hugged her arms around her chest and stared intently at him. He could almost see her mind working over it. "So, to summarize," she said, "you asked me not because you liked me, but because you want someone to actually study the ICW to keep you from making a fool of yourself and thought of me, even though you've had a vision that means my going could endanger my life and the life of my friend. Does that sound right?"

It sounded so crass and callow when she said it, but he realized with dawning horror that she was right. "I'm sorry," he finally said. "I just…I'm sorry, Hermione."

"Sorry," she snorted. "Yes, you _are_ sorry. And selfish, too. You being famous and looking smart is more important than my life, or Justine's life. Good to know just how much I'm worth, I suppose!"

"Hermione!"

"Just go to hell, Harry."

He couldn't help it—he grabbed her hands pulled her back around. "Hermione," he said quietly, "I _can't_ let you be hurt. The vision was a warning, because I saw other visions beyond it. I _will _save you, Hermione, because the alternative is too terrible to see."

Her eyes widened a moment before she placed her hand over his. "What did you see?"

"I…I can't tell you everything, Hermione. Only that…if you come with me, you won't be fighting alone. I promise you that."

She took a deep breath before stepping back away from his touch. "Fine," she said. "I'll see you Friday."

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

Friday came with the inexorable march of time, and Harry walked toward the appointed chamber feeling rather depressed. Hermione hadn't spoken to him since he asked her to the Ball, and he wasn't entirely sure she was going to show up to the chamber at all.

It was a surprisingly large crowd given both the starting and reserve teams had their partners with them. He looked through the faces until he saw Hermione Granger standing off to one side, hugging herself and scowling a little at all of the older couples around her. He walked toward her, ignoring some of the whispers coming from the others. "You came," he said. "I wasn't sure if you would."

"I said I would," she told him sharply. "I have already pulled some information about the current ICW Elders and the prominent Coven Majeure Dames that are behind them."

Harry smiled and rubbed the back of his neck. "Thanks, Hermione. I'm sorry if…well, thanks."

"May I have your attention, please," Professor McGonagall said before Harry had a chance to bury himself any deeper. "Professor Dumbledore will make a few statements regarding the nature of the ball and the school's expectations, after which we will have a course on proper ball dancing, followed by dining etiquette. Professor Dumbledore?"

The ancient wizard smiled at McGonagall before turning his attention onto the twenty eight students in front of him. "It is quite the honour to be invited to Geneva," he began, "but it is also a huge responsibility. Geneva is not a particularly forgiving place for young witches and wizards, which is why the majority of the members of the ICW have a century or more of life. However, the invitation was sent, and was accepted, so there you have it."

He conjured a blackboard with a negligent flip of his wand. Instantly, a diagram appeared. "For those of you who have not reached the ICW in your Wizarding Studies class or those long past it, let me refresh your memory. The organization as it exists today was first founded in 1692, when the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy was formally enacted. Its purpose originally was to ensure uniform enforcement of the statute among the member nations. Since then, as is the case with all bureaucracies, its size, scope and responsibilities have increased exponentially. Now it is a unified government entity that enforces peace among the different member Ministries, and intercedes in those non-signatory nations where the Secrecy Statutes may be violated.

"It is important to know that not all magical communities are members of the ICW. In point of fact, the Japanese magical community has resisted joining the ICW for generations, as have a few other notable exceptions. While they are the most obvious example, there are many other communities around the world who have chosen not to join the ICW.

"As to its actual structure, each member nation appoints a representative Elder who attends the ICW Parliament, and likewise that Elder's coven's Dame attends the Coven Majeure. Any and all policies must pass through both the Parliament and Coven Majeure to become effective, although, as you might imagine, the Coven Majeure does have the right to override the Parliament if they have sufficient votes. Additionally, the ICW has international courts chaired by two witches and a wizard to oversee international disputes."

The ancient wizard paused a moment to collect his thoughts. "The United Kingdom is rather unique in that it is represented by an Elder wizard who is not currently bonded. Alas, I survived all four of my wives, but because of the fact I did bond four times, I am the Elder of my own coven. Professor McGonagall's family joined my coven many decades ago, when my dear wives were still living, and acts as my proxy Dame for the British covens. However, for the Coven Majeure England is actually represented by the Senior Undersecretary of Magic, Dame Dolores Umbridge. For those of you who are not aware, Dame Umbridge is also the Dame of the Umbridge Coven, of which Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic, is the appointed Elder. Madame Umbridge's own husband came to an unfortunate end during the war against Voldemort. Her coven's official alignment is Dark Pureblood. Being a Light wizard, myself, England does not always present a unified front at the ICW."

He looked over at Hermione in particular. "The ICW is an intensely conservative organization clinging to strongly held beliefs that may be at odds with some of your more modern sensibilities. It is likely that some of you may hear things that are offensive to you. It is imperative that you say nothing, nor do anything, to compromise either this school or yourselves. You will all be expected to be on your very best behaviour, to smile and comport yourself with dignity and quiet reserve. You are to speak only when spoken to, and _not_ to partake of any of the adult beverages that may be available to you. If any of you are found to have disobeyed these simple rules, you and your partner will be returned to the Castle via Portkey and will receive a significant punishment." His heavy brows lifted. "It is an honour to be invited to the ICW, but rest assured it is also a test, with some risk both to yourselves and this school. I beg of you to be on your best behaviour. Now, with that said, enjoy your lessons."

"Blimey, now I'm not sure I want to go now," Fred muttered.

"And I'm not sure I want you to go either, Mr Weasley," Professor McGonagall said sternly. "So just in case the headmaster was not clear enough, let me explain it to you in simpler terms. Anyone who embarrasses Hogwarts will return to this school only long enough to collect your belongings before you are expelled. Are we clear?"

Even Hermione was wide-eyed when she nodded.

"Excellent. Now, line up, wizards on the left, witches on the right. Quickly, now, the competitors will be expected to participate in at least the first two dances. The first will be a Quadrille, and the second a Waltz. We will be learning first the Quadrille, which is a lively dance with four partners. While this originated as a Muggle dance some centuries past, it has been adopted by magical culture and has since flourished. Each pair assumes an element, and so the couple in the upper right hand shall be Fire, the lower right shall be Earth, the lower left shall be Water, and the upper left shall be Air. Everyone, take your partner's hand, please…"

The dancing at first was very slow going, especially because of all the footwork involved, but Hermione at least didn't complain too badly when Harry stepped on her toes, and though he kept his Occlumency barriers up, he would be lying if he said holding her hands for those portions of the dance was unpleasant.

By the end of the hour, the group was able to simulate a passable Quadrille, with each couple dancing in the centre as the other couples clapped time to the music. Harry was absolutely positive Hermione even smiled once or twice.

The second dance was actually much easier to learn, but also much more draining for Harry, as he was intensely aware of Hermione's proximity when he placed a hand on her waist to spin her in the sliding steps of the dance. So close, he could feel her magic radiating from her torso, and he was positive she could feel his as well, judging by the pink in her cheeks. Still, she very conscientiously avoided looking him in the eye, perhaps fearing her own feelings as the two danced with the others.

Finally, the practise session ended when McGonagall clapped her hands. "Very good, all of you," she said approvingly. "We will have one more practise session next week before the term ends. Now, the tailors are in the next room for the wizards to be measured. Girls, you will remain in this room. Well, on your way!"

The boys, including Harry, walked next door to the tailor, who was also a woman. "Robes off, boys," the older witch said in a professional tone. "Down to your skivvies. We're going to make you look sharp, so everything has to be perfect."

Harry blushed scarlet, but Cedric just shrugged and started pulling off his robes.

Muttering about how unfair the wizarding world was, Harry started to follow suit, as did all the others. An hour later, after all the boys were measured and dressed, they left the chamber just as the girls did. The young witches were talking animatedly about their dresses, all save Hermione who was writing in a small Muggle-style notebook. As a fourth year, she and Harry were the two youngest people from Hogwarts attending the dance, and possibly the youngest among all the teams as well.

He fell into step beside her, trailing behind the others. Without looking up from her notes, she said, "I'm staying in the castle for the holiday. We should practise the dances more. The library has a series of phonographs we can use for music."

"Okay," Harry said easily.

"And we also need to study the political landscape more," Hermione said. "After Professor Dumbledore's speech, I feel completely unprepared for this. He would not have given us such a stern warning without reason."

"Okay."

She finally stopped and looked up at him, eyes narrowed suspiciously. "What?"

"Do you remember when I did your palm reading?"

"Well, yes."

"I saw you fighting, Hermione. Not just arguing, but fighting for your life, and for others. Syb…I mean, Professor Trelawney had a vision that I was going to ask you to the ball, and she said…she said this might be the start of that fight. I don't want you to get hurt, Hermione. You don't have to come."

Her eyes narrowed and her lips firmed to a white line. "Harry, did you know that Dolores Umbridge has publicly called Muggleborn 'magic-stealing cretins' and referred to half-bloods as 'mongrels' who should be put down for their own good? She was talking about people like me, Justine, or our friend Jessica Rivers. People like your mum, Harry. I knew from my first semester in Professor Hooch's class that I was either going to fight, or succumb. And frankly, my father raised me to never back down from a fight. If you can't handle that, then you need to step aside."

"I wish I could," Harry said sadly. "Just…well, be careful, anyway."

Her hard expression softened a little. "I'm always careful, Harry. I'll let you know about a study schedule. You'll need to know faces and names too."

"Right. Thank you."

"Good night," she said, nodding before she walked away. Harry watched her go and wondered if he was dragging her into trouble, or if she was dragging him.

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**Author's Note**: Very special thanks as always to Teufel1987, JR and Miles for beta reading.


	32. The International Confederation of Wizar

A/N: Chap 31 Review Responses are available in my forums. IMPORTANT NOTE: There is, in the the course of this chapter, a character who uses a word considered at least in America to be one of the most hateful and disgusting racial epithets in existence. To my knowledge, I have never used this word before in my writing, and certainly don't make plans to do so again. However, for better or for worse, I needed a way to demonstrate the true character of a particular school, and it was the most effective way to do so. I did not mean to offend anyone with, nor justify, the word or its usage.

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**Chapter Thirty-Two: The International Confederation of Wizards**

Harry's breath caught in his throat when he saw Hermione coming down the stairs from the girls' dorm with Katie Bell and Angelina on the night of the ball. The girls all had their choice of four colours of the same cut, since each school was going to have a certain uniformity with their ball gowns. The Gryffindors almost all chose red, which was not surprising given that elemental magical leanings also often coloured personal aesthetic tastes as well.

Harry knew Hermione's colour choice ahead of time because when his dress robes arrived, he had a red sash with the Hogwarts Crest on it to go with the white tie and cummerbund. All three girls were gorgeous, of course. Angelina's black skin glowed under the red of her dress, while Katie's dark hair was off-set prettily by the colour. But Hermione simply glowed, as if the dress actually brought out her magic.

"You look beautiful," he said, fighting not to stammer. Then, seeing the other two girls smirking at him, he quickly added, "All of you."

Belinda Hopkins came down a few minutes later, also wearing red. The gowns were exquisitely-fashioned acromantula silk that hung down to their ankles, with décolleté necklines and a stole of gold cloth. Though the cut was the same, each dress had individual trimmings of either lace, pearls, sequins, ruffles or ruching. Hermione's dress was trimmed with pearls that shone brightly in the firelight, with the colour of her dress casting a pink glow on them. The most distracting part of the dress, of course, was the very, _very_ low-cut neckline. Harry didn't even know Hermione _had_ cleavage until that moment.

She had her stole positioned artfully to conceal herself as much as possible. With the dresses, the girls wore opera-length white gloves. Attached to the chest of her low-cut dress was the Hogwarts pin. "When we dance," she said in a deathly serious tone, "you are to not lift my arms above my head. If I slip out of this dress, I swear to Morgana and Merlin both I will hex your bits off, expulsion or not."

Angelina laughed. "Relax, Granger, those sticking charms will keep your pink bits safe, trust me."

Given that Angelina virtually flowed out of hers, her assertion carried a certain weight. "Well, girls?" Fred asked as he came down. Opposite, Georgina came down as well. "Everyone looks absolutely lovely, even my horrid sister," said Fred. Are we ready to go?"

Lee Jordan was the last to join them, and taking Georgina's arm in his, they led the way out of Gryffindor Tower toward the Headmaster's office. They were met en route by the other members of their team. Stephanie Barlow and her fellow Ravenclaws wore stunning silver and blue dresses with sparkling silver circlets in their stylized, curled hair, while the two Slytherins wore green. Cedric and his Hufflepuff companion wore gold and earthen tones.

When they arrived, they were met in the Headmaster's office by Dumbledore and by three others. All four of them wore extravagant robes. Dumbledore was covered from neck to toe in a multi-layered robe of purple and lavender silk and satin, and over it all wore a long, conical hat bursting at the top in an intricate floral shape. Around his chest he wore a golden starburst with a sliver of wood in amber in the centre.

Beside him stood a shorter man with loose skin and small eyes set over a wide nose. His robes were black and red, and he wore a green sash across his chest with the Ministry of Magic shield on it. Next to him stood a witch of an indeterminate age—meaning she could have been anywhere from fifty to one hundred years of age. She wore a silk ball gown easily twice as extravagant as anything the girls wore, with the trim sparkling with lace and diamonds.

The second woman, though, wore the same robes as Dumbledore, but without any of the elegance. She was wide bodied—one of the few truly fat witches or wizards Harry had ever seen, with a broad face that held what should have been a pleasant smile, except it did not reach her eyes. Nor did she have Dumbledore's starburst. Rather, she wore a sash like the man with the Ministry of Magic seal on it.

"Greetings all," Dumbledore said expansively. "Students, I have the honour of introducing you to the Honourable Cornelius Fudge, our Minister of Magic, and his lovely first wife Gertrude Fudge. Also joining us is the Esteemed Dame Dolores Umbridge, by contact and proxy Dame of the Fudge Coven. Minister, ladies, may I introduce the Hogwarts Dragons."

"Charmed!" Fudge said in an overloud voice. He clapped his hands together in emphasis. "What a comely looking group of witches and wizards you are. Ahh, there's my boy! Harry Potter, a pleasure to meet you my boy!"

Harry smiled sickly at being singled out by the Minister. "An honour, sir," he said, giving the bow Neville taught him. "And who is your companion tonight?" Fudge said.

"Hermione Granger, Minister," Hermione said with a picture-perfect curtsy.

"Lovely!" Fudge said.

"_Hem Hem_. 'Granger'?" Umbridge said. Her voice sounded like nails on a chalk-board muffled in syrup. "I'm not familiar with that surname, child. What coven is your family affiliated with?"

Harry felt Hermione's arm tense in his. "Dame Dolores, my family is not affiliated with a coven at this time."

Harry tried not to stare. It was the absolute perfect answer because it did not actually answer the question Umbridge was really asking.

"I see," she said, with that smile that never reached her eyes. "Children, I am sure that the Supreme Mugwump has expressed to you what a great honour it is to attend this function. The vast majority of witches and wizards never even see the headquarters of the International Confederation of Wizards much less get invited to attend a function there. While you are there, you will not just represent Hogwarts, but the whole of the Minister of Magic of the United Kingdom. I trust you shall be on your best behaviour. A special International Floo has been established that will take us directly to Geneva. I shall go first, followed by the children, then the Fudges, and finally by the Supreme Mugwump. We shall return via the same method later this evening."

The fireplace billowed out without any powder, and instead of burning green burned a deep blue. Collecting her purple robes, the Dame ducked her head and dove into the fire.

Cedric was the first of the team to go as captain, followed by his companion. As the team lined up to go, Harry hissed, "Professor Dumbledore!"

Dumbledore turned to look at him with an odd sparkle in his powerful eyes. "Never fear, Mr Potter," he said softly. "You shall go with me by Apparition."

Harry sighed in relief, while Hermione nodded as if figuring something out. "I remember now, the Floo makes you sick. But Professor, can you actually Apparate all the way to Geneva?"

"Very few can, which is why I do not make an issue of it in front of others," he said gently. "However, side-along Apparating two students would tax even me, and so I will ask you to go with the others, Miss Granger."

"Yes, Professor."

Hermione was the last to go, leaving the Fudges looking curiously at Harry and Dumbledore. The Headmaster smiled and placed a hand on Harry's shoulder, almost shocking him from the man's overwhelming magic. "As I'm sure you're aware, Cornelius, Aethers have difficulty with normal Floos. I daresay an international Floo would render Mr Potter unconscious. I shall take him by an alternate method."

"Good thinking, Headmaster!" Fudge said brightly. "Good thinking indeed. Well, my dear, are you ready?"

"Of course, darling," Mrs Fudge said in a low, lazy drawl that screamed of forced indifference. The two disappeared in a billow of blue fire.

"Before we go, Mr Potter, a word," Dumbledore said. "May I ask what caused you to ask Ms Granger to accompany you?"

"Angelina told me it was a political event, and I needed someone to help me," Harry said. "Hermione has been helping me study, so I figured she'd be good to come."

"I see," Dumbledore said carefully. "Be aware, Mr Potter, that she will be exposed to others this evening like Madame Umbridge. Make certain that neither of you loses your temper."

"I will, Professor."

"Very good. Now, take my arm, and we shall go."

The sensation was not like the practice side-along apparition in Wizarding Studies. The squeezing and twisting sensation was the same, but it lasted much, much longer—a seeming eternity.

And suddenly it ended with a clap of displaced air, and Harry found himself in an elegantly panelled antechamber right in front of a cavernous fireplace still flickering with blue flame. The Hogwarts team was assembled in one corner, while in another, were a group of players in silver and black robes that looked rather grim. The players themselves also looked grim-faced as they gathered around a tall, gaunt wizard with iron-grey Hair.

"Headmaster Dumbledore," the old wizard. "Apparition?"

"It is appropriate at times, Headmaster Peaslee. I look forward to hosting Miskatonic come February."

"We look forward to touring the school," the old wizard said. "I haven't stepped foot in her halls in two centuries."

"She'll be glad to welcome you back, my old friend," Dumbledore said.

Other schools arrived, first of whom was Durmstrang. Harry sought out Krum, who nodded to him with a wry smile before joining his team in their spot against the far wall. Next came the Escola Superior, glad in bright yellows like flowers. Their headmistress directed them into a corner with a sharp voice. After that came the school from Florence, the Medici Scuola di Magia. Following the Florentines were the Australians, and finally came Beauxbatons.

Harry noticed that Fleur Delacour was noticeably absent, as was the headmistress. Instead they were led by a different witch in the same purple robes as Umbridge and Dumbledore. She curtsied to Dumbledore, who bowed back, neither saying a word.

When all seven teams in the league were gathered, the twelve-foot high oak doors swung open, revealing an astounding ballroom beyond, stretching at least two Quidditch pitches in length. Hanging from buttressed ceilings above were chandeliers the size of busses, throwing brilliant white light across the charmed mosaics in the floor, which caused coloured reflections to follow anyone walking in a fairy-tale world of forests and castles.

At the top of the ceiling, stars twinkled, charmed to reflect a clear, cloudless night sky. As large as the floor was, however, it was still filled with hundreds of immaculately dressed witches and wizards. To Harry, the sheer amount of magic in the room made him feel slightly drunk. Hermione clutched his arm tightly and hissed, "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I think so," he whispered back. "Just please don't let me do anything stupid."

"You're asking a lot."

He turned to her and grin. "Don't I know it."

At the foot of the doors stood the major-domo, resplendent in seventeenth century pantaloons and a formal red coat and wig. "The Esteemed Dame Clémence Durand of France and the Beauxbatons Abraxans!"

The woman leading the French delegation stepped elegantly past the threshold of the antechamber and posed for the two lines of photographers before moving on. The team and their companions followed, gathering in two lines—starters and reservists—for photographs before joining the Dame chosen to lead them that day.

"Headmaster Nathaniel Wingate Peaslee of the Miskatonic University of Magic, Eastern Confederation of the Americas!" the major-domo announced.

The old wizard Dumbledore spoke to earlier posed as well, though only for a fraction of the time. Behind him, the Miskatonic students gathered in a poor simulation of the Beauxbatons students. From what Harry knew, they had lost every game so far.

A moment later he frowned and looked at Hermione. "I thought Miskatonic was in America."

"It is," she whispered. "American magical society split during their civil war."

The announcements continued—Durmstrang, Salem, Brazil, Florence and the Australians, whose school was called the Kangaroo Island Academy of Magic. Finally, when all the other schools were called, the Major-domo said, "His Honour, the Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards; Chief Warlock of the British Wizengamot, Order of Merlin First Class and founder of the Dumbledore Coven, Headmaster Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. And the Dragons of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

Dumbledore stepped before the photographers, smiling gently while they took pictures, before moving on. Harry fell in with Hermione and the others as they assembled for their team photo, and then sighed with relief when it was over.

Before they could break up, Cedric said, "Everyone to me, please."

They gathered around their captain quickly just inside the door. "Team, listen, we need to stay together," he said intently. "There are twenty eight of us, so we need to pick a partner couple to stay with until meal time. Harry, Hermione, I think it best if you stay with me and Sarah."

Harry fought an urge to kiss the older student. "Sounds good to me."

Cedric's companion, a Seventh Year Hufflepuff with curling golden locks, smiled indifferently at the younger couple. With that game plan, the guppies made their way into the sea of sharks.

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

Harry always knew Hermione was smart, but within ten minutes of mingling with Cedric and Sarah, he began to stare at her in simple, sublime awe. "How can you possibly know all this?" he finally asked.

"I studied," she said crisply, while curtseying and smiling at a couple in the purple robes that indicated either an Elder or a Dame of the Confederation. "That's what you brought me along for, wasn't it?"

_Yep_, he thought, _she is still mad._

Mad or not, she whispered names to him every time they were approached by an ancient wizard or witch, at least those in the purple robes. She did not know everyone, but for that they had Cedric, who flawlessly introduced himself and his companions and ferreted out names and countries with the ease of an old pro. Harry's respect for the other boy increased; as with the Quidditch team, it wasn't that he always knew the answers or was the best player. He just had a way of making people feel comfortable around him, and of making them comfortable with themselves while around him. It didn't matter if he was talking to players from Australia or Salem; or a two-century-old witch from Bulgaria.

Eventually they were called to their seating, and the seating was very carefully orchestrated. There were nineteen signatory nations in the International Confederation of Wizards, though some of those signatories had magical ministries that spanned several Muggle nations. The Elder and Dame from the magical ministry of Norseland, for instance, represented Denmark, Norway and Sweden, while Greater Germany and the Magical Ministry of Czechoslovakia (which survived the dissolution of its Muggle counterpart) dominated Central and Eastern Europe.

The surprise for Harry, given his lack of study, was the fact that instead of the United States of America, there was the Eastern Confederation of the Americas. The Western Confederation was not a signatory member of the ICW and so was not present in any capacity.

"There's really not much I could find on the WCA," Hermione said when he asked. "I understand the war was vicious, but none of the history books would speculate why. I do know that technically the two sides are still at war—the last major battle was actually in 1981, just a few months before…well, you know."

"Yeah."

Tables burgeoning with food appeared throughout the ballroom, with seats assigned by name. Each of the team tables were set with fifty-six seats, designed for two school teams to sit facing each other. For a moment, Harry feared he was going to be seated across from the ever-hungry girls of Salem, but instead they were seated across from the students of the Miskatonic University of Magic.

The Miskatonic students were oddly uniformed not just in their dress, but also in their appearance. For one thing, they were all white, either of Anglo or Northern European descent. Many had rather low cheekbones and jutting chins. There were also an astonishing number of boys on the team, judging by the pins indicating players from their companions. In fact, all the starters were boys, as were four of the seven reservists.

As platitudes and toasts were made, Harry studied his fellow players and was studied in turn. When at last they were allowed to eat, Hermione said, "I've not been able to find much material about Miskatonic University in the Hogwarts Library. However, it would seem that you have a high male enrolment, if your team is any indication."

The player across from them, a boy in his late teens, stared at her for a long moment before he said, "Miskatonic doesn't feel the need to share information with outsiders. But yes, we have more men than women, since most women choose to go to Salem's."

"Why is that?" Hermione asked.

"You'd have to ask Salem's," the boy said abruptly. He then turned to Harry and said, "Best keep your Mudblood on a short leash tonight, boy. Them kind is better seen and not heard."

Harry waited for Hermione to explode. Instead, she nodded and said, "Thank you. That does explain nicely why all the girls go to Salem. Harry, try the veal, it is quite delicious."

The American wizard stared daggers at her all night, but she very casually ignored him, limiting her conversation to Harry on one side, and Cedric on the other. Harry ate lightly, settling on a soup, a delicious sourdough bread and a cut of veal, since he knew they would be dancing later that evening.

After the meal, Headmaster Dumbledore actually gave a short speech espousing the virtues of international cooperation, and the dangers that conflict brought with it. After him, Dame Evdokiya Parvanov gave a speech in her native Bulgarian that was magically translated into each listener's language, though in truth she said very little despite the many words she used. Finally, though, the time of speeches came to an end and the tables and food disappeared. Ladies left the hall to freshen up before the dance, Hermione included. The dancers were almost ready to start and Harry was getting worried when a flushed Hermione finally appeared, flanked by Angelina, Katie, Georgina and Stephanie Harlow.

"What happened?" Harry asked.

"Miskatonic happened," Angelina said. "Stupid Yankee hicks actually called me a nigger. Can you believe that? As if that matters in magic!"

"Not to mention they tried to actually attack Hermione right outside the ladies room," Katie snarled.

"What happened then?" Cedric asked as he joined the incensed discussion.

"Beauxbatons," Hermione said, sounding a trite smug. "Evidently they played Miskatonic earlier this year and the Americans said some things the Beauxbatons players didn't appreciate, and didn't forget."

"Well, that goes a long way toward erasing the Delacour fiasco," Harry said. "Did they do anything?"

"There might have been some transfiguration involved," Hermione said. "Come on, the dance is starting."

They went through the steps of the highly formulated dance, concentrating too much on getting the steps right to really enjoy themselves. The waltz, though, was easy enough that Harry was able to relax a little. He saw Hermione was still flushed, and her magic still boiled with anger. Though he did not dare touch her on her chest (not with the neckline as low as it was) he nonetheless sent his magic through his hands where they touched her waist.

Her flush turned into a blush as she looked at him, startled. He kept his Occlumency barriers firmly in place but smiled at her gently. "Have I told you yet how brilliant you've been?"

"No," she said in a slightly suspicious tone, as if waiting for something bad to follow.

"You really have been brilliant," he continued. "And not just for helping me with names and faces. The way you handled Umbridge, or the inbred Yanks, was just brilliant. I really couldn't have asked for a better companion tonight. Thank you for coming."

"Well," Hermione said, "it's been an experience at least." Then, with a wry smile, she said, "Thank you for asking me, Harry. When a girl gets asked to a ball, she likes to think it's because the boy likes her. I suppose I had a set of unrealistic expectations going into this, and that's why I got angry."

Harry's gentle smile turned self-deprecating. "Not so unrealistic. You're the most beautiful girl here. It's my honour to dance with you."

Her lips parted in a silent "O" as she looked at him, flushing down to her chest. "You really mean that, don't you?"

He nodded.

She laid her head on his shoulder as they spun about the floor. "Harry, I read about palm readings and visions. I read that seers should never do readings on family and loved ones because of how intense the visions could be. When you had those visions, did you see… were we…?" She lifted her head up again and stared at him. "Were we together?"

"Yes," he blurted before looking down. He meant to just break contact with her eyes, and instead found himself looking at the creamy white swell of her breasts pushed up by her gown. Deciding her eyes were safer, he looked back up and added, "But it may not be the way you were thinking."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm not sure," he admitted. "It was a violent vision. I just…it's like I was trying to tell you. There's violence in our future. I couldn't tell where the threat came from, only that it was there."

Hermione nodded, accepting his word. "Somehow, I think if you're with me, it'll be okay."

Harry shrugged as the music came to an end. "I'm not even sure of that. But I know this…you won't be my first bond."

She stared intently at him again. "What do you mean?"

"I mean just that. I don't know how or why, only that you won't be my first bond. I'm sorry."

She stuttered a little, and then separated. "Well, what can I expect, being only a lowly Mudblood and all." She turned and saw the other Gryffindor players gathering near the far end of the hall. "Well, it looks like it's time to go. Come on then, we don't want to keep the others waiting."

Harry followed behind, trying to figure out what he'd done this time.

When they arrived with the others, it was to see Dame Dolores flushed and incensed as she talked in a quiet but intense tone to Angelina and Katie. When Harry and Hermione appeared, her eyes narrowed as she turned on Hermione. "And you! What do you think you were doing, you filthy little Mudblood, picking a fight with students from another school like that?"

Hermione froze, caught completely off guard by the large woman's sheer vitriol. Taking a cue from Cedric, Harry said, "I'm sorry, Dame Dolores, but we're not sure what you're referring to."

"That…that…witch attacked a group of Miskatonic Students right outside the hall!"

"Dame Dolores, I understood that to actually be an altercation between Miskatonic and Beauxbatons," Harry said, fighting to emulate Cedric's mollifying tone. "Hermione, Katie and Angelina were caught in the middle, but from what I understood, the Beauxbatons students were upset by comments the Miskatonic students made during their match. We had nothing to do with it other than being in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"As I told you, Dame Dolores," Dumbledore said in a cool tone. "And please remember, Madame that discipline for students on a school function is the sole discretion of the Headmaster, and at the ICW, the sole discretion of the Supreme Mugwump. If you have issue with actions taken by my students, please direct those concerns to me."

"Those students sullied the name of Hogwarts!" Umbridge said.

"Madam, your volume and lack of carriage does the same for Britain," Dumbledore said sharply. His magic lashed out, invisible to all but Harry, who watched as Umbridge stiffen in actual, visible fear before the feeling.

"Now, I believe it has been a long enough evening," the headmaster continued in a gentler tone. "Students, if you come with me, I believe we can put this evening to rest. Come along, come along."

Umbridge was still sputtering when they left Geneva and returned home to Hogwarts.

* * *

sp

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**Author's Note**: Very special thanks as always to Teufel1987, JR and Miles for beta reading. They did their very best with Brit-checking chis chapter. If there are any major faux-pas, they are entirely of my own doing.


	33. A New Year

A?N: Chap 32 Review responses are in my forums. Now, a notice. This will be one of the last quidditch-only chapters just because the tournament is wrapping up. Events from last chapter are fermenting, but starting with the next chapter we will begin to see things happen at a much faster rate, in part because of what happens when Harry faces a poaching attempt in this chapter. A little patience is requested. For those interested, there are 40 chapters in Book I. Book II will begin posting immediately after, so there will be no break between the books.

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-Three: A New Year**

Of course, Neville, Ron and even Seamus had to hear all about the ball when they returned to school after the New Year. The photographs were delivered by owl on the sixth and all of Harry's roommates enjoyed taking a look at not just the Hogwarts team, but all the other teams as well.

"Shite on a broom, look at Granger's tits!" Seamus said when he got his first look. "Who knew?"

"Some of it is the gown, Seamus," Neville said. "Look at Katie, she's not that heavy up top but that gown makes her look like she's about to bust a seam."

"Yeah, but Granger looks good." To Harry, Seamus said, "So did she let you cop a feel or take a peek? You know, to thank you for taking her."

Harry stared at his roommate in more astonishment than dismay. "Mate, do you even know Hermione?"

"What? She's a bleedin' Muggleborn who got to go to the International Ball in Geneva. She should be on her knees giving you a blow for that."

Neville shook his head. "Four years, and you haven't grown up at all, have you, mate? Besides, Hermione'd be as likely to bite it off as blow if you tried to make her do anything she didn't want to do."

"I'm just saying she should be grateful and all!" Seamus said defensively.

"So why don't you go tell her that, Seamus?" Harry said sharply. "Go tell her she should be grateful for getting the chance to be insulted by inbred Americans and purist bigots, so she should come give me a blow. Let's see how that works out for you."

Seamus's semi-playful smile turned into an expression of horror. "What, and get my bits hexed off? I'm not stupid."

Ron snorted and Harry just shook his head as he put the photos in his trunk.

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

With their game against Florence coming up soon, Harry started his strength training again, and unsurprisingly he found Gregoria Goyle once again in the workroom, lifting twice what he was able to despite almost an entire term of hard work.

She did not acknowledge him as he came in, so he figured she was not in a talkative mood. Instead, he did his warm up exercises of push-ups, pull-ups and crunches before he headed for the heavier weights. An hour later, he had to depend on the safety charms to help him get the barbell back to the bench, and sat up with trembling arms.

He could actually see his magic seeping into the stressed muscle tissue, aiding and speeding the recuperation process. It was a huge advantage magicals had over Muggles when it came to strength-building. While Gregoria was still stronger than he was, he was able to lift easily twice what he did when he started just after one term.

Abruptly, Gregoria spoke. "My Mum wrote me a letter demanding to know who Hermione Granger was, and what her blood status was."

Harry froze and stared at her, hulking a few feet away and staring at him with a grim expression on her broad, hairy face.

"I told you to not take her, Potter. You think I was just trying to be mean? That was Dame Dolores with you, the biggest Blood Purist in the country. You know, the one who calls Muggleborns 'magic thieves'? And you took the big, know-it-all Muggleborn with you right under her nose. Now every coven in the United Kingdom knows the name Hermione Granger. They all know she's a Mudblood, and they all know she accompanied Harry Potter to an elite International function. You painted a target on her chest, you dunce."

"I had to take her," Harry finally said.

"No, you didn't," she shouted. Finally, she took a deep breath. "I was trying to do you a favour, Potter. But I'll tell you this right now—if you make me choose between my coven and you, I'll kill you myself."

Harry was so stunned he could not find anything to say as the larger girl stalked out of the exercise room. Finally, to himself, he muttered, "Who the hell was talking about killing anyone?"

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

The Medici Scuola di Magia was not the oldest school of magic in Europe, according to the beautifully illustrated pamphlet Headmistress Maddelena Medici de' Mantua graciously provided to them. The school was founded by the second, secretly witch-born daughter of Lorenzo de' Medici. Given Rome's hard stance against all witch-born, the Medici Patriarch sent his daughter to Beauxbatons with a huge sum of money that was intended to act as her dowry.

Instead, she returned to Florence in 1492 after her father's death and founded the _Scuola_, the first magical school in Italy following the burning of the Scuola Italia under the orders of Emperor Theodosius in 380, when he issued the edict of Thessalonica declaring Rome a Christian Empire.

Within fifty years of its opening, the school flourished into a magnificent palace, patronized by the elite of magical Italy and Greece as an alternative to Beauxbatons, Durmstrang or Morgana forbid, Hogwarts.

The school itself was located on a verdant hillside south of Arno River. The campus consisted of five colonnaded buildings, each standing three levels high, surrounding a Quidditch pitch and a beautiful piazza. Just outside the southern-most building were two greenhouses and a bestiary.

Of all the schools Harry toured so far, the Medici school was by far the most beautiful. He walked along with his teammates as the ancient headmistress pointed out interesting sites, including the most comprehensive library of Roman magic in existence, and a surprisingly large collection of magical books taken from libraries in Istanbul, when as the city of Constantinople, it was raided by the Doge of Venice under the guise of yet another crusade.

Even the students seemed relatively friendly. Although, they could have been telling Harry to dig up and desecrate his dead mother's corpse for all the Italian he knew. Still, they smiled and seemed welcoming to the Hogwarts team.

The game that followed was challenging, but Harry had a good feeling within the first two minutes, when he was able to kick away the Quaffle in mid-pass on the Lion's opening offensive drive. Stephanie Barlow plucked the intercepted Quaffle out of the air, passed it on to Katie as the primary speedster of the Chasers, who did a breath-taking barrel-roll pass to Angelina, who then slammed it in for the score.

The Medici Seeker, however, was the best he'd faced since Viktor Krum. She was a sleek-looking girl with auburn hair tied back severely in a ponytail, with odd, yellow eyes and a determined grimace that might have been a smile. She flew close to the broom, reducing her drag and increasing her speed to truly impressive rates.

They saw the Snitch at the same time and both shot for it, bumping each other mercilessly as they jockeyed for position. It was, in fact, the first time Harry truly appreciated his strength training. The Medici Seeker used her hand to try and push him away from the Snitch.

He batted her hand away easily and pushed against her shoulder, putting every ounce of strength he had into the push. It was enough to knock the girl a good two feet off course, so when the Snitch took its all but inevitable detour—this time shooting straight down—Harry was able to do his reverse flipping dive without having to fight off the other Seeker.

She did not do the flip he did, but instead barrel-rolled, almost matching his speed. However, those few inches were enough and he snatched the Snitch out of the air just meters above the grass of the pitch. The two Seekers landed within feet of each other.

The girl surprised Harry with a laugh and a hug. _"Incredibile! Sai volare in modo magnifico!"_

"Er, thank you," he said, returning her smile.

The meal that followed was as delicious as what they had at Salem, consisting of lamb as the main entrée with an astonishingly delicious soup and warm, soft bread that just melted in Harry's mouth. When at last it was time to go, the Medici Seeker joined the rest of her teammates to see the Hogwarts students off, bowing to the boys and curtseying to the girls, until she came to Harry. Her eyes lit up, and to Harry's confusion and shock, not to mention the astonishment of the rest of the students, she leaned forward, wrapped her arms around Harry's neck and delivered a searing, astonishing kiss.

At the same time, Harry felt her magic extending toward him, and with a sense of fear and shock, realized the girl was actually trying to poach him! He snapped his Occlumency barriers into place and pushed his magic _against_ hers, rather than _into_ hers. The effect was a shock, like from static electricity that made the girl jump back with a surprised yelp. "_Cosa é successo__?"_

He didn't smile at her any more. Instead, he said as clearly as he could, "I'm not for you."

Behind her, one of her male teammates said something to her that made her frown and her eyes water. She turned away from all of them and ran out of the courtyard. Her teammate, a boy who looked Cedric's age, turned and studied Harry speculatively. "She is a Medici, a direct descendent of the school's founder," the boy said in fluent, albeit if accented English. "Being bonded to one such as her would be a great honour."

Harry nodded. "She is very beautiful. Please tell her that I'm sorry, but I've seen a little of my future, and it is not peaceful."

"We have heard much of you, Harry Potter," the boy said. "That you are a seer and an Aether. I will tell her this for you. It may help, it may not. I wish you the best, whatever fate may bring you."

The boy actually offered his hand, and Harry took it without hesitation, feeling the boy's earthen magic flowing strongly. Harry felt a sharp stab of pain and looked in the boy's eyes, seeing a brief glimpse of the boy and the girl standing before a magical priest. "She will be yours," he said softly to the boy.

The other boy blinked. "How do you know this?"

Harry smiled. "I'm a seer," he said simply. "Be there for her, and you'll get what you want."

The boy smiled, clapped a hand on Harry's shoulder, and continued down the line.

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

Two weeks later, Harry felt profoundly grateful that the Miskatonic game was at Hogwarts. Given their meeting with the Americans at the International event, he had no desire to see the school itself.

The students and their grim-faced headmaster, Peaslee, arrived by an enchanted flying yellow school bus. Dumbledore seemed to speak amiably to Peaslee, but Harry could see that the two wizards' magic clashed almost from their first words. Peaslee would have been a Slytherin, given his elemental leaning. However, Harry was equally astonished by the similarity in the two old wizards' power. Peaslee was almost as powerful as Dumbledore was, something Harry didn't even think was possible.

The students were just as grim and judgmental as he remembered over the holiday. They looked at all the students in Hogwarts with sneers and disdain, especially at the black or asian students. Harry felt a growing dislike of them just watching them interact during the tour. He sought out Angelina and said, "Am I the only one who wants to completely destroy them on the pitch?"

Angelina smiled grimly. "No, not at all."

The game started with the lead Chaser of Miskatonic attempting to foul Angelina with a violent kick to her head. Unfortunately for the American, Angelina was a far better flyer. She barrel-rolled away from the kick, stole the Quaffle and scored within the first ten-seconds of play.

In some ways, the game reminded Harry of his first game against Slytherin, only the Miskatonic players were not nearly as good. They attempted brute force over tactics, but evidently didn't realize that all the Hogwarts players were experienced against such tactics because of Slytherin. Moreover, Vincent Crabbe and Gregoria Goyle were both bigger and stronger than any of the Americans and beat down on them mercilessly with the Bludger, taking out two American players within the first hour.

It was a slaughter, and Harry never felt such justified satisfaction as he did when he caught the Snitch uncontested after driving the Miskatonic Seeker into the ground with a Wronski Feint. The final score was over three hundred to seventy.

Not surprisingly, the Miskatonic students did not stay for the meal after the game, and left the school without even congratulating the winners. Harry was glad to see them go.

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

Mid-February came faster than Harry or Hogwarts was ready for, and with Australia's win over Miskatonic the final standings came in. Unsurprisingly, Brazil had dominated almost every game played, and were scheduled with their last game against the Medicis. However, having the most wins the Brazilians were guaranteed a spot in the playoffs no matter how their game with Florence turned out. Behind them came Durmstrang, with only one loss, which was to Brazil.

Unfortunately, there were three separate schools with two losses each, but only two spots available. Beauxbatons was heavily favoured against Salem, and having played both teams Harry thought it a sure thing. Australia, then, would be the key. If Hogwarts won, they would go to the playoffs in April. If they lost, their season was over.

Angelina had them in the locker rooms every night reviewing Omniocular recordings of each of the Australian's games. They studied just what Brazil and Beauxbatons were able to do to win. It also made Harry appreciate just how good the French team was when they weren't busy trying to be tricky.

They practised after each session, and by the time the Friday before the game arrived, Harry was mentally and physically exhausted. He was half passed out on one of the couches in the common room when Angelina came by and said, "No practise tonight. Get some rest. It's going to be a long day tomorrow."

"Yeah," Harry agreed.

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

The Kangaroo Island Academy of Magic was the youngest school of magic in the world, dating back barely a century. Its founder, Nicodemus Darling, was in fact still the headmaster, while the man's two wives served as joint deputy headmistresses and, from what Harry saw, did most of the work.

Despite being the youngest school, it was actually much larger than any of the other schools in terms of land area and student enrolment because of the huge number of ethnic students from Southeast Asia who had to flee governments that were decidedly unfriendly to witch-born, to the extent of murdering any child born with the tell-tale signs.

Harry heard this and shuddered.

As a consequence, though the school was founded by and run by anglos, the majority of students were actually asian, Indonesian or to a lesser extent Indian. India evidently did not practice the school-system of magic, since most witch-born there were taught in an apprenticeship method.

They all spoke passable English, though, and the island was beautiful, with striking rock formations and seals on the beach on the southern side of the island. The school itself was just a few miles north of Seal Bay and took up almost ten square miles of land enchanted to escape the notice of the Muggles.

The buildings were wood and stone, rarely over one story high, all with wide covered porches and large palm fans everywhere. The largest single structure in the school in fact was the Quidditch pitch, and it was that structure that dominated Harry's attention.

There was a larger than normal crowd at the pitch when they did their introductory lap. It was Cedric who said, "Lots of people from home. This is a deciding game for the championship. Let's give them a good show!"

What followed was an intensely played game on both sides. The Australians were very good players, with a Chaser attack as good as anything Angelina could formulate, a pair of brutal beaters who gave Gregoria and Vincent all they could handle, and a keeper who matched Cedric's stops shot-for-shot.

For the first time in the tournament, it came down to a true battle of Seekers. The Australian Seeker was a short Asian girl with close-cropped hair and a tattoo on her left cheek that looked as if a wild animal were biting her head. She was quicker on turns than Harry, but he had the advantage on straightaways. Neither advantage was significant, though. She defended her Chasers aggressively, disrupting his attempts at diving into the Aussie's formations. Fortunately he was able to stop her from doing the same to Angelina's girls.

The problem was that Hogwarts could not build any type of lead, and Harry was not at all sure he could steal a Snitch from his opponent. He wracked his brain as they flew around each other, desperately trying to figure out a way to get the advantage when a terrible thought occurred to him.

During a sub for one of the Australian beaters, he flew back to Cedric and Angelina. "Potter, what is going on with that girl?" Angelina demanded.

"She's good," he said. "Maybe better than me."

"We're going to need that damn Snitch," she said.

Harry looked intently at them. "Guys, I think I'm going to have to check her, hard. Like Krum did to me that first game. Remember how he dominated her during their match with Durmstrang?"

Cedric looked appalled. "You want to play like those cut-throats?"

Angelina, though, gave him an appraising look. "Think you can do it?"

"Yeah," Harry said, though his stomach rebelled at the thought. "I'll hate myself after, but I think I can do it.'

"Angie…" Cedric began.

"Cedric, you know as well as I do it's a common tactic," she snapped. "They do it in pro games all the time. Harry, do it. We'll take the foul shot if you can get control of the sky from her."

"Right."

Play resumed, and Harry looked for his chance, hating himself the entire time. Finally, the Aussie Seeker took position and dove toward Angelina and Stephanie in an attempt to steal a pass. Harry shot right at her from a different angle. He gritted his teeth, lowered his shoulder, and slammed right into her.

The poor girl flew off her broom and landed flat on her back twenty feet down. Harry, winded and sore from the hit himself, rolled to regain control of his broom, while around him the whole stadium erupted in angry boos at the tactic. In fact, it was the first foul of what had until then been an immaculately clean game.

The Australians glared daggers at Harry as they lined up for their penalty shot. With a free line and three goals to defend, Cedric simply wasn't able to stop the shot.

The Australian Seeker took the time from the penalty to catch her breath and remount her broom. Of course the fall wouldn't hurt her, not while she had magic to cushion her landing. However, she definitely looked shaken.

Ten minutes later, she started to try and disrupt the Hogwarts formation again, and once more Harry dove at her. This time, she saw him coming and turned hard away from him, leaving Angelina and the others a chance to score unmolested.

That foul set the tone for the rest of the game. She was good, but evidently Harry's greater mass and strength did a number on her. He noticed she didn't fly as fast, and favoured her left arm as she flew. He felt absolutely awful with himself, but he also knew it was the only way for the team to win.

When the Snitch finally showed up, she made a beeline for it when Harry came in hard, looking as if he would hit her rather than go for the golden ball. She shied away with a startled cry, disrupting her line of approach so severely she didn't have a chance to recover when the Snitch darted in a different direction. Harry caught it, winning the game.

After the game, Harry noticed the Aussies avoided looking at him, but he didn't care until he reached the Seeker. She was the shortest opponent he'd ever played against and barely came up to his shoulder. "Are you alright?" he asked her. In front and behind her, her teammates bristled.

"I'm fine," she said. "That was a dirty foul."

"Yeah, it was," Harry agreed. "And I feel like shite having to do it, too. I think in a normal game you'd probably beat me."

"So you took it on yourself to cheat, right?" the boy in front of the Seeker said.

"Not cheat," Harry said, surprising himself with how determined he sounded. "Win. I'm not proud of it, but I did what I had to do for my team to win."

"Keep telling yourself that, you berk," the girl said. "Come on, guys."

At the press conference afterward, several reporters asked Harry about the foul. "Well, it was a hard lesson I learned against Durmstrang," he admitted. "If you establish dominance over the other player, you increase your chances of winning. I'm not proud of it, she was a damned good Seeker, but we came here to win."

"And he's certainly not the only player in the league to do an intentional foul," Cedric said quickly. "It is quite common among the better players. He talked it over with me before he did it, because honestly he did not like the thought of having to do it, but he felt it was necessary and I, as captain, agreed. So don't think it was a matter of Harry being mean—the kid doesn't have a mean bone in his body. No, it was a Seeker making a tactical decision and a captain agreeing with that decision."

"Do you think you would have won without the foul?" Harry moaned when he saw it was Skeeter.

"I don't know," Harry admitted. "And that was exactly why I felt the foul was warranted. I won't apologize for the foul itself, but I do apologize for hurting my fellow Seeker. She is an extraordinary flyer, and I hope she continues to play."

Finally the day wound down, and an exhausted Hogwarts team made their way back home, knowing that in a month and a half, they would be going to the playoffs.

* * *

sp

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**Author's Note**: Very special thanks as always to Teufel1987, JR and Miles for beta reading. Also a heads up to Zincat for correcting the bad job Google did on my attempt at Italian. Thank you.


	34. Hogsmeade Weekend

A/N: Review responses are in my forums as always.

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-Four: Hogsmeade Weekend**

Harry opened bleary, tired eyes. "What?" he growled.

"Hogsmeade Weekend, mate," Neville said. "You coming?"

The fourth years spent two hours after dinner sitting yet another of the Muggle GCSE exams, this time in trigonometry, and by the time the test was over Harry could barely see. He sat up and rubbed his face before reaching for his glasses, only to find Neville holding them out for him. "Thanks."

"So how do you think you did?"

"Fine," Harry said.

According to Hermione, Muggles normally took as long as two years to get through the entire GCSE process. At Hogwarts, they had one semester, a semester that for Harry as the only Fourth Year on the Quidditch Team was made twice as difficult. Fortunately, the other professors took pity on the Fourth Years, reducing the amount of out-of class work significantly.

The exception, of course, was Snape, who had a look of sadistic glee on his face when he assigned absurdly long essays in every class.

"You know," Harry said, "I'm not sure I want to go. I think I just want to lie in bed and vegetate for a while."

"Sorry, mate," Neville said, "we're vetoing that idea."

Behind him, Ron appeared. "This is the first Hogsmeade weekend this year when you aren't either playing Quidditch or practising Quidditch," the red-head declared. "No strength training, no homework, thank Merlin. Cor blimey, Harry, it's a wonder your head's still screwed on right."

"So you're coming," Neville said. "Go take a shower, you stink. We'll grab some breakfast for you and eat on the way."

"I hate you," Harry said sincerely. "I hate you both."

Ron laughed, while Neville ripped the blankets off Harry, exposing him to the cruel, biting cold of early March in Scotland.

Half an hour later, bundled up in a fleece, scarf and a raincoat that Dudley received from a friend of Aunt Marge's which didn't fit the stout boy, Harry and his roommates braved the cold wind and rain of a late Scottish winter day and boarded a carriage for Hogsmeade.

The rain broke once they reached the village, though the wind picked up in its place. Still, Harry was layered sufficiently with clothing and warming charms not to mind too badly as they made their way through the village. The school commissary had essential items such as quills, parchment, ink and other supplies, but it was just more fun to shop in the village, and given the lack of Hogsmeade opportunities this year, Harry took advantage of the opportunity to pick up clothes for the summer. He had not counted on his relatives to buy clothes for him since his first trip to Diagon Alley.

Given his recent experiences, he also dropped by the book sellers and picked up an interesting volume on the International Confederation of Wizards, which also had details of each member ministry and a list of those nations or regions that were not members. He also looked for anything on American history, since the Hogwarts library had nothing about the Americas, but couldn't seem to find anything.

"What'chyer looking fer, lad?"

Harry almost jumped out of his shoes at the voice that spoke right in his ear. He spun about to find a wizened, bent old man staring up at him through incredibly thick, almost spherical glasses that expanded his rheumy eyes to the a size approaching that of his actual head. "Er, sorry, just looking."

"Well, yes, 'could see that, I'm not blind yer know," the ancient man said with a cackle. "Not yet, no how. Yer lookin' for something, but yer' not find it. So what'chyer looking for?"

"Well, I was looking for something about America. I mean, about their civil war?"

The man blinked behind his glasses before grinning. For some reason, Harry expected a dirty, gap-tooth grin, but of course magic tended to protect the body. The man's teeth were perfect and even. "Which one?"

"Wait, what? I thought America only had the one civil war. That's what they taught in primary."

The old man cackled again. "Lad, those Americans hae bin fightin' each other loch radge. A man is a lion for his ain cause, they say. But those books are proscribed. Ye cannae hae them."

Harry stared in shock. "Proscribed? Why would books about America be proscribed?"

"Why, 'cause He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, 'course," the old wizard said. "He supported th' Western Confeds, he did. Before things got violent, back in th' Seventies, he wrote articles callin' fur Englain tae adopt the' same government. The Wizengamot called t' hae him arrested. Treason, they named it. Things got bloody after that."

"And so they banned the books?" Harry said. "That's stupid."

"Lad, to the likes o' them, ideas can be mair radge than wands. So, let's ring ye up, shall we?"

Harry left the store after the old man rang up his books and placed them in a bag for him, smiling behind his thick glasses the whole time. Harry nodded his thanks before joining his friends at the Three Broomsticks Inn.

The three of them were coming out of the inn when they heard loud voices shouting. Curious, Harry led the other boys further down the street where they saw three older witches, one of whom might have been a century or more, casting low-level but painful hexes at a student in Gryffindor robes.

"Merlin's balls, is that Hermione?" Ron asked, gaping.

Harry saw to his shock that it was Hermione, who was crying even as she tried to defend herself with a shield charm Professor Lupin taught them just earlier that year. Without hesitation, Harry handed his bag to Ron and ran to the altercation, as angry at the unmoving onlookers as he was at the three witches attacking Hermione.

Harry jumped in between Hermione and the other three witches and raised his own shield, shouting the spell since he did not know how to cast silently yet. The shield snapped into place with a white glow, absorbing the magic of the other witches. "Leave her alone!" he shouted at them.

"Impertinence!" one of the witches shouted.

"Proof it is, the bint has bespelled heem, th' coo!" a second shouted.

"Better she be dead now," the third said grimly, raising her wand.

Fury and fear surged through Harry's wand. He shouted "_Stupefy!" _and poured every bit of magic he had into it. He did not expect the two things that happened next: a wall of red magic slammed into the three witches, blowing them back into the air and the silent, watching crowds.

And then his wand broke with an explosive _Crack_. There was no heat or pain, the wand just shattered, as if from a small bomb within it. He stared at the wand in shock, while the onlookers all shouted in dismay.

"Harry," Hermione said behind him, "come on, we need to go."

"But my wand…"

"We need to go now, Harry," she insisted. She grabbed his hand, and through the touch he could _feel_ her absolute, overwhelming terror not just at being attacked, but at him breaking his wand.

The terror alone was enough to convince him to go with her, while the villagers mumbled and stared at Harry darkly. They reached Ron and Neville, both of whom were pale. "Blimey, what happened?" Ron asked.

"Harry broke his wand," Hermione said. She had not let go of Harry's hand yet and continued to drag him toward the carriages.

"He stepped on it or something?" Ron asked.

"No, Ron," Hermione snapped without looking back, "he shattered it with magic. He overloaded his wand, and now…" She stopped abruptly, sobbed once and then wiped her face. "We'll talk later. For now let's get back to Hogwarts."

"I still don't get what the big deal is," Ron said as he trotted along behind them.

Neville, though, was staring at Harry with wide eyes. "Harry, did you really?"

Harry held up his so both boys could see, while Hermione tugged his hand. "Boys!" she said, "We need to get back to Hogwarts now!"

She was almost running now, forcing the other three to trot to keep up, until they reached one of the waiting carriages. She climbed in on her own and sat down, covering her face in her hands while the three subdued boys climbed in behind her. At the front, the Thestral whinnied an inquiry on why they were back so early.

Harry whinnied back without thought, asking to return home quickly. There were no words, per se, since Thestrals communicated more by translated ideas than specific words. "I'll never get used to that," Ron said, right before the Thestral kicked into motion, sending the red-head to the floor of the carriage and forcing the others to grab at the rails.

"Sorry," Harry said. "I told her we were in a hurry."

Indeed, the carriage sped through the forest at speeds approaching that of a Muggle auto. Only the cushioning charms on the wagon kept them from flying out. "So can someone tell me what's really happening?" Harry asked.

Hermione shook her head and wiped away the last of her tears from her own fight. Her face was red and she bore two angry looking marks on her chin and cheek. "I'm not allowed to tell you," she said.

"But you're going to anyway," Neville said. "I have a good idea already, but Harry needs to hear it."

She looked long and hard and Neville, then turned to Harry. "Wands limit your power, Harry. They're designed not just to focus your power, but to cap it. You're not _supposed_ to be able to shatter a wand with magic. Professor Hooch said when that does happen, the Covens usually force the Wizard to bond."

"What?" Ron said. "What happens if he refuses?"

"Azkaban, or they just force the bond," Neville answered. "Think back to the Death Eaters who refused to bond. Where are they now?" He too rubbed his face. "Well, first off, I swear Hermione I won't tell anyone you told us. I've always heard the girl's Wizarding Life class was a lot different than what we boys had."

Harry shook his head, too stunned to speak, until he thought back to what happened. "Why were they attacking you, Hermione?"

"Because I was a Mudblood who dared try and steal the Boy Who Lived away from more deserving pureblood witches," she sneered.

"Well, that's just barmy," Ron said.

"Tell that to Ginny," Hermione said. "Your sister has been glaring at me since she found out Harry asked me to the Ball. She'd curse me herself if she thought she could get away with it."

"This is just so unfair," Harry muttered, feeling that old, simmering anger rising again. "Whose business is it who I go to a bloody ball with? And why is it anyone's business how much magic I have? The whole thing is stupid!"

"Harry," Hermione said carefully, staring at him urgently, "didn't you see how people acted around Dumbledore at Geneva? How he made Umbridge almost piss herself? He's the most powerful wizard in the world because he is not currently bonded. He could blow out his wand easily, and there are rumours he can even use wandless magic, which is classified as Dark Magic by the Ministry. People are scared of unbound, powerful wizards. It reminds them of You-Know-Who, or Grindelwald, or Merlin. We were taught that Merlin was a villain, Harry, and Morgana the hero for destroying him. They're going to force you to bond, I just know it. They'll bond you to some older witch to keep you under control." She sobbed again and covered her face. "I should never have said yes. I shouldn't have!"

Before the boys could say anything, they arrived back at the castle. "Blimey, that was fast," Ron muttered.

As fast as they were, somehow news travelled faster. A grim-faced Albus Dumbledore stood at the main entrance with Professor McGonagall at his side. Oddly, she was wearing a sash across her chest with two crests.

"You were wise to return quickly," the headmaster said in a calm tone that belied his expression. "Mr Weasley, Mr Longbottom, I believe it wise for you both to return the Gryffindor tower. I entreat you both to say nothing of today's events to anyone, for any reason, not even to your families."

"Especially to your families," McGonagall said. "Potter, Granger, you'll come with us, please."

Hermione nodded, her face resigned and her eyes red. Neville and Ron looked apologetically at Harry. "I'll take your bags back," Ron offered in a subdued voice.

They parted ways, and in a few minutes Harry and Hermione found themselves in Dumbledore's office with the door locked behind them. "Before we begin," Dumbledore said, "you should be aware that Professor McGonagall is here acting as a Dame of the Dumbledore Coven and not as your head of house. In this matter, your status as students cannot be taken into account. We will be joined momentarily by two others."

The fireplace on the far side of the office flared green, and Harry tensed when Delia Griffin stepped out wearing a sash very similar to McGonagall's, only with different crests. Almost at the same time, the door behind them opened despite Dumbledore's locking charms to admit Severus Snape.

"Thank you for coming, Dame Delia," Dumbledore said. "Dame Minerva is here representing my personal coven. Professor Snape is here as Mr Potter's chosen magical guardian."

Delia Griffin narrowed her eyes when she saw Hermione. "And why is that young lady here?"

"A related issue that I wish resolved first," Dumbledore said. "Please sit. Tea will be prepared momentarily."

Harry's stomach by now was roiling. "First off, Mr Potter," Dumbledore said, "will you please hand your wand to Dame Minerva."

Fighting to control the trembling in his hand, Harry passed the wand over. Professor McGonagall's expression of dismay upon seeing it did not make him feel any better about his circumstances. McGonagall waved her wand over the exploded stick and shook her head, before standing and vary deliberately handing it to Griffin.

The Dame of the Griffin Coven did the same before clucking her tongue. "I see," she said when done. She tossed the wand over her shoulder and it flew as if directed by magic directly into the fireplace, where it crackled and sparked blue. "I ask again," she said, "why this child is here?"

"Miss Granger was set upon by three older witches of Hogsmeade," Dumbledore explained. "It was in her defence that Mr Potter overpowered his wand."

Griffin glared at Harry and Hermione both. "Where these witches harmed in any way?"

"I've received word that they were stunned only," McGonagall said. "Given the circumstances and the ages involved, I move that all charges of assault be dropped."

"These witches." Delia continued, ignoring McGonagall's words. "Did he stun them individually?"

"All three were stunned simultaneously," Dumbledore said. "It was that which destroyed the wand."

Delia nodded, as if he merely confirmed what she already knew, and turned to stare speculatively at Hermione. "Child, I've been told that you are of passing intelligence, so I shall be blunt. You are a Muggleborn. After the debacle that was Lily Evans, the covens will not tolerate another Muggleborn bonding a Potter heir. It was Lily's selfishness that resulted in only a single heir being alive today, when James Potter easily had the potential for two or three possible bondmates. I would be willing to forget your role in this whole affair, so long as I have your word that you will stay away from Potter. I'll even throw in a boon—a second bonding to an available wizard within the Griffin coven. We have three who are strong enough to take another—one of whom is only thirty. But let us be clear—you are not fit for Potter, and you will _not_ be allowed to bond him. Do I make myself clear?"

"Perfectly clear, Dame Delia," Hermione said through gritted teeth.

"Then leave, child, and remember my words."

Hermione stood and walked stiffly and quickly to the door, which opened and then closed behind her. When she was gone Griffin stared at Harry. "So, he first rejects what I'm told was a very powerful and advantageous bonding by a daughter of the Medicis, he then physically assaults a witch in Australia, and now burns out his wand while stunning three adult witches. And if that was not bad enough, he had the gall to appoint a man as his magical guardian. Elder Dumbledore, I am seeing a pattern here, and it is quite disturbing."

"You're looking for trees in a forest, Delia," McGonagall said. "Mr Potter defends his friends. I've seen it several times. He doesn't care if they be witch or wizard. He cares only for what is right. As for the game—you know very well that was a tactical foul and a bloody good one as well. If he'd been a witch, people would be applauding it."

"But he's not a witch. And he _refused a Medici!_" The last came out as an infuriated hiss. "Do you realize the honour he could have brought to the British ministry, to his coven, and to this school by bonding a Medici! How in the bloody hell did he even refuse her? Her Dame told me the girl's power could bond anyone she chose!"

"Don't I get a say in this?" Harry said.

"Shut up, you foolish little boy!" Delia snarled suddenly. "I am your Dame! You do not speak to me unless spoken to! I have half I mind to have you stilled or put down all together!"

"You shall do no such thing!" Minerva snapped back. "Not even the Dark Covens will allow such a thing!"

"He'll be dead before they get a chance to hear it!" Delia growled.

"No, Madam, he will not," Dumbledore said quietly.

Delia turned and stared, surprised. Even McGonagall looked surprised. Dumbledore sat unmoving, his magic carefully pulled in and controlled. "Mr Potter is only fourteen years old, and he was defending a friend. It was not an issue of bonding, but of friendship, and as Elder and Headmaster I will not allow him to be stilled or otherwise harmed."

"I am his Dame, it is my decision to make," Delia said, eyes narrowed.

"Then perhaps he should switch covens," Dumbledore said.

"He is underage. And Severus, if you even think about switching covens I'll ensure you're back in Azkaban so fast Aurora will not even know you're gone … and Rolanda will help."

"I'm sure she would," Snape said. He turned to Potter. "I told you it was a mistake to ask for me to be your magical guardian."

Harry nodded, fighting with everything he had not to lash out at the hateful witch. "If you were to resign, could I ask for another to represent me?"

"I would be your magical guardian as your Dame," Delia snapped.

Harry looked at her, and still fighting to control his tone, he said, "Dame Delia, I can see your magic. With all due respect, I do not believe you have my best interest in mind. If Professor Snape wishes to resign as my magical guardian, I would ask for Amelia Bones to assume the position if she is willing. I have met her, and spoken with her niece. I believe she would be fair."

Delia reared back as if slapped, and across from her the corner of McGonagall's mouth twitched.

"Since his request has placed me in an untenable situation, I do hereby resign as his magical guardian," Snape said quickly. "Dame Minerva, Dame Delia, I accepted the position because he was in need of my services while dealing with Gringotts, but in this area I realize I would not be able to properly represent him. Therefore I excuse myself."

With that, the Potions Professor walked quickly to the door and disappeared.

Behind his desk, Dumbledore kept his face strictly neutral as he penned a short missive. "Fawkes, would you?"

Harry stared as a creature of brilliant white and yellow fire appeared on the desk, warbling a tune that sounded like a symphony. It reminded him of the music he heard when the Headmaster appeared to fight back the Dementors. The magical bird took the letter and disappeared in a ball of flame.

When the bird was gone, Delia Griffin glared hatred at Harry. "You are making a dangerous enemy, Mr Potter."

"I don't make enemies, Madam," Harry said tightly. "They seem to happen quite well on their own."

Moments later the fireplace flared green and Amelia Bones stepped out. The woman wore a monocle in her eye, and elaborate business robes over a pair of satin slacks. "So the rumours are true," she said upon entry. "He really did assault those witches?"

"With cause, Amelia," McGonagall said. "They attacked a friend of his, and he simply defended her with a stunner."

"A wide-area stunner that blew out his wand," Bones finished. "Yes, it's already making the rounds. Expect a sizable article in the Prophet tomorrow—it won't be nice. Dame Dolores has been making several statements. Dame Delia, I hope you're well. So, why am I here?"

"Mr Potter's magical guardian has resigned," Dumbledore said. "In the absence of such a guardian, Mr Potter has asked for you to take the role. He has indicated he met you, and felt you would be a fair guardian."

Bones snorted in a distinctly un-lady-like fashion. "Now I know how Snape felt. So, Mr Potter, you're attempting to drag me into a fight between covens?"

"Ma'am, I just…" There were so many emotions blowing through him it was hard to speak. Finally, he said, "Before she died, Professor Burbage taught me that sometimes wizards need a witch to help. I need help, Madam."

"Well said, Potter," McGonagall murmured.

Amelia's hard expression softened slightly as she walked the rest of the way into the room to stand behind him. "Very well, Harry. I accept the role as your Magical Guardian. Chief Warlock, will you witness?"

"I so witness," Dumbledore said. "So, to wit, Harry has blown his wand. Dame Delia is seeking hard action against him for her perception of a pattern of violence against witches."

"Pattern?"

"He almost killed that Australian Seeker," Delia snapped, "and he assaulted three grown witches. And moreover, he refused a bonding from a Medici!"

Amelia shook her head. "With respect, Dame Delia, that was a brilliant Seeker check. The Irish National team used the same tactic to knock the Americans out of the cup last year. I played Quidditch professionally for two years before I joined the Department, and I assure you that was not an act of violence, but an extremely well-thought tactical strike that took our team into the playoffs. As for his assault on those witches—despite conceptions of blood purity, assault is still a crime, and those witches were assaulting a fifteen-year-old Fourth Year student. Three grown witches, one teen-aged girl. The Department has already determined that Mr Potter's actions were justifiable since he used a non-lethal spell to save his friend. No criminal actions will be taken."

Harry couldn't help but sigh.

"There are civil actions, and concerns greater than just the wording of the law," Delia said. "He burned out his wand while assaulting witches!"

"Yes, I'm aware of the connotations," Amelia said, nodding. "Nor can I say I'm entirely happy about it. What is it you are demanding, then?"

"That he be forcibly bonded now with a suitable witch to be determined in an emergency Sabbat. Possibly two witches, given the power he demonstrated. In the absence of such, he needs to be stilled. He is a clear danger to all witches."

Bones looked long and hard at Harry, before saying, "Yes, I can see he's a raving lunatic intent on raping and pillaging the countryside. Seriously, Dame Delia, are you actually trying to state that Mr Potter is a threat? He hasn't even taken his OWLs yet. He is powerful, but he has no training, and by the time he has sufficient training to be a threat, he'll be bonded through normal means already."

"Not good enough!" Delia shouted. "As his Dame that is what _will_ happen, by my civil authority!"

"Which brings us to our second point," Dumbledore said. "Mr Potter does not believe Dame Delia has his best interest in heart, and wishes to switch covens."

"I wonder what made him think that," Amelia said with a wry smile.

"The Potters have been a part of the Griffin Coven since the founding of Hogwarts," Delia said. "We will not just let him go."

"Then it looks like there will be a Sabbat regardless," Amelia said. "Frankly, Dame Delia, I agree with Mr Potter that you are not looking out for his best interests. As powerful as he may be, he is still fourteen, and it is highly inappropriate, whatever the justification, to bond a wizard his age. In the Muggle world to do so would be considered statutory rape and as his magical guardian I cannot agree to such an act."

"Then I call a Sabbat," Delia said. "Dame Minerva?"

"There is enough contention, I must agree," the professor said. "I second your call for Sabbat, Dame Delia. Let the covens gather."

"Until then, Mr Potter will remain in the castle without a wand," Dumbledore said. "This school recognized the right of the Dame to select wands for their wizards. If Mr Potter is allowed to switch covens, it will be for the new Dame to select a wand for him."

"Until then," Delia said before she stood and walked stiffly to the fireplace, disappearing moments later.

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**Author's Note**: Very special thanks as always to Teufel1987, JR and Miles for beta reading. They did their very best with Brit-checking chis chapter. If there are any major faux-pas, they are entirely of my own doing.


	35. Judgments

A/N: Responses to the huge number of reviews (thank you) can be found in my forums.

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**Chapter Thirty-Five: Judgments**

The moment Delia Griffin was gone, Harry shot out of his chair, clenching his fists and grinding his teeth. "Is it always going to be like this?" he shouted, no longer able to keep his anger under control. "Am I always going to have hateful old women insulting my friends and telling me what to do?"

He spun away, stumbling out from the seats around the headmaster's desk and pounding on his leg in frustration. "I thought things were supposed to be better in the magical world!" he shouted. "Instead all I get is hate and monsters and people trying to hurt me! Why? What have I done to make you all hate me so much?"

Without realizing it, Harry's magic was swirling around him in a storm of uncontrolled power. Suddenly he felt an alien magic pushing against his and a hard, loud voice shouting, "_Occlumency_, Harry. Now!"

Only, Harry did not want to bottle up his emotions, he wanted to shout and rage and scream until his voice cracked. He pushed back against the magic, giving into his rage like any normal fourteen-year-old boy pushed past his limit would. Dumbledore stood but did not draw his wand as he approached. Harry trembled before the approaching thundercloud of magic, but continued to stand his ground and push back, grinding his teeth with an animalistic growl of outrage.

Finally, dry, leathery hands made almost luminescent by the vast power just underneath the skin rested against his cheek. "Harry, my boy, I understand your anger," the old wizard said. His calm tone belied the raging, silent battle of magic around them. "I know, my boy, I know. More than you can imagine. Don't let the anger control you, or it will destroy you."

The air literally sparkled, snapped and popped with random discharges of energy as the two magical auras clashed, until finally Harry's rage snapped, and in its place came a single great, frustrated, dry sob. He fell down to his knees on the tiles of the floor as his magic collapsed around him.

Dumbledore did not kneel, for his knees would never forgive him, but he did bend over and hold the back of Harry's head, as if in silent benediction. "Use your Occlumency, Harry. When you are ready, join us for a cuppa." The old wizard walked back to the desk while the two witches stared in silence.

Finally, Amelia said, "Albus, if anyone should be bonded or stilled, it's you. By Morgana, how have you managed not to shatter your wand?"

The old wizard smiled gently while motioning the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to sit. "A lifetime of training, Madam. And I should not have to remind you that I have met the requirements of the covens by bonding with four witches, and fathering several children with them. It was my grave misfortune that time, sickness, and at the last, violence, took my family away from me. I fear my great age has assured the Covens that any danger I represent would be short lived, if in fact I had any inclination to be dangerous. Rest assured, I do not."

"And Harry?"

"Harry, if he so chose, could easily form a new coven," Dumbledore said. "I suspect because of the unique circumstances of his early childhood, he could easily bond four, or possibly even five witches, though why he would want to bond a fifth I can't imagine. Having had four wives, I assure you, alone is more taxing than any sane wizard would ask. But then again, James Potter could have founded a coven as well with Lily as his first wife."

"Which is why Delia actually supported Lily's desire to be a single spouse, no matter what the woman says," McGonagall said. "The nerve of her!"

Nearby, Harry took a deep, shuddering breath and raised his Occlumency, viciously pushing all the boiling emotions behind it. He stood and walked back to the adults. "I apologize for my outburst," he said. "It's been difficult to discover this world is even more flawed and despicable than the one I left."

"Mr Potter," Dumbledore warned.

Harry bowed his head and collapsed tiredly into the seat near Bones. "Can she really…make me bond with someone?"

"That is a grey area," Amelia admitted, "caught between custom and law. The word of the law provides protection for wizards under the age of fifteen. But the law of the Sabbat is different than Ministry law. Within a Coven, dames have absolute power, up to and including stilling or killing. It is usually a great scandal and gets talked about for weeks or months, but because the custom is so ingrained little comes of such acts."

Harry took a long, shuddering breath again. "So what happens next?"

"Next, there will be a meeting of the Dames," McGonagall said. "Perhaps not all of them. Some covens have more power than others due to the number of families and the amount of wealth they represent. The Sabbat will hear Delia Griffin's charges and wishes, and they will hear Amelia's plea for you to switch covens, and they will decide. Do you know which coven you would wish to switch to?"

"One that doesn't want to kill me?" Harry said. "I don't know."

"Well, as you know I am a member of the Croaker Coven now," Amelia said. "It is a traditionalist coven more than a light coven."

Harry shook his head. "I like Dame Augusta, but I'm afraid she would agree with Dame Delia."

The tea arrived with a blur of Elfin magic only Harry could see, and a pop. He accepted a cup with a strained smile and stared down at dark liquid. He frowned before a sudden thought came to him. While the others stared in confusion, he took the tea pot and poured the tea back until only the leaves remained at the bottom of the cup. He then dumped the leaves onto the cup's saucer.

"Potter, what are you doing?"

Harry, though, ignored Professor McGonagall's question and moved the leaves around until they formed a name. He felt a sharp, familiar stab of pain, though at least this time there was no blood. He placed the saucer on the desk and pointed. "Who is that?"

The three adults stared at the saucer, before Dumbledore said, "Mr Potter, please remember that practitioners of Tasseography see patterns through their magic. Lacking such magic, none of us can see what you see."

"Oh," Harry said, disappointed. "It says Branwenn, but I don't know who that is."

"Good Morgana, do you think he means Branwenn Lloyd?" McGonagall said.

Amelia stared intently at Harry. "Have you ever heard of the Lloyds?"

Harry shook his head. "No, ma'am, or at least, I don't think so."

"Why should he, they're not a politically active coven, and Harry was Muggle-raised," McGonagall said. "Does Carlton even come to the Wizengamot anymore?"

"He works through a proxy," Dumbledore said. "However, it is an intriguing idea. The Lloyds actually have a common ancestry with the Potters, both descending from the Peverell Line. The Potters aligned themselves originally with the Griffins for geographic and idealistic convenience. However, others have noticed a shift of the Griffin Coven's politics since Delia rose to Dame, and given the Lloyd's relation to the Potters, it would be a logical move."

"Moreover, they are an avowed Light coven, and fairly powerful, when they choose to use that power," McGonagall said. "The entire Jones clan answers to them, as do the Morgans and Prices."

"Most important of all, however," Dumbledore said with a twinkling smile at Harry, "was that our boy here saw them in the leaves. Given his status as a confirmed, licensed Seer, that fact alone may have some bearing; especially to a Dame who has seen almost four hundred years of history with her own eyes."

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

"Next time I say I'd rather not go to Hogsmeade, listen to me," Harry muttered to his roommates when he got back to his room. Fortunately, most of the other students were still at Hogsmeade. Hermione was not in the Common Room when he got back, so he assumed she had gone to her dorm room.

"What's going to happen now?" Neville asked.

"They're going to call a Sabbat," Harry said. "And I have no wand."

Ron's eyes bulged. "Blimey, Harry. A whole Sabbat? For what?"

"Dame Delia wants me bonded now, or stilled," Harry said darkly.

The other boys stared at him in horror. "But that's…that's…that's not right!" Neville finally got out.

"She's angrier about that stupid girl from Florence who tried to poach me than she is about what happened in Hogsmeade," Harry muttered.

"Oh, you mean Constantina?" Neville said.

Harry stared.

"What, it was in the paper!" Neville went to his trunk and pulled out a stack of old papers, finding the one he wanted. "See!"

Harry never saw that edition, but there was indeed a picture of him in the line of other players, and the cute Florence Seeker wrapping her arms around and giving him a searing kiss. As he continued to watch, she backed away with a confused and hurt expression on her face. Worse, the caption read, "**Potter Spurns Medici Heir**!"

"Good God," Harry muttered. "I didn't even know her! What was I supposed to do, just let her poach me?"

"She'd be a good catch," Ron said, looking over Harry's shoulder. "Cute AND rich. Doesn't get much better than that."

Harry sighed. "Ron, go away."

"This isn't going to go away, Harry," Neville said. "This is big. Blowing up a wand like that is huge. And it also means you have no wand to defend yourself."

"No worries, you and I'll take care of it!" Ron said.

"We'll certainly try," Neville said, less certain.

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

Harry very seriously considered skipping dinner that night, but having missed lunch already his stomach convinced him hunger was more important than pride. The moment he stepped down into the common room, he knew things would be bad when everyone there turned and stared.

Sighing, he said, "Yes, right. Go ahead, get the stares out of your system. When you're done, I'd like to go eat."

"No worries, Merlin-boy," Georgina called. "I'm sure if it gets too irritating, you'll just use your super-manly magic to make us all go away."

"Georgina, if I could do that you'd have been gone four years ago," Harry said.

Both twins laughed at that, while Angelina stepped forward. "It's all bullocks, Harry. I saw what happened. The team is with you—you don't need a wand to fly."

Touched more than he thought he would, Harry cleared his throat and nodded. "Right, er, well, thanks."

"Come on," Neville said, "let's go eat."

If the silence in the common room was disturbing, the Great Hall going silent upon Harry's entry was downright frightening. He ducked his head, stayed securely between his roommates, and went straight to the table to eat. As he was eating, a school owl delivered a note to him. He opened it and read the instructions to return to the Headmaster's office that evening after dinner. When he looked he saw the Headmaster absent from the staff table.

"Let's hope it's good news," Neville said.

"At this point I'm just hoping it's not worse news," Harry muttered.

He left his friends after dinner and walked quickly to the Headmaster's office, not surprised when the door opened on its own for him. He saw Dumbledore there, since the old wizard had skipped dinner in the Great Hall. McGonagall was not there, but Amelia Bones was. With them stood an ancient witch so old her skin was little more than pale gauze wrapped around the blazing fire of her magic. Thin white hair curled on her head, while her eyes virtually glowed red with magic, the original colour of her irises worn out long ago.

"So this is Charlus's grandson," the witch said in a dry, leathery voice that reminded him of Binns.

"Indeed, Dame Branwenn," Dumbledore said. Harry tried not to blink—he rarely heard such respect for others in the Headmaster's voice. "But he is also Lily's son, and we must take that into account. He is an Aether."

"So I've heard," the ancient witch said. "Come closer boy. At my age, all I see is magic. I wish to see you face."

He came closer, frankly awed by her age. She reached up hands and placed them on his cheeks. He felt her ancient magic wash over him, somehow tasting his very being. Suddenly he realized… "You're an Aether! But…"

"Tactile only," Branwenn assured him, "but yes. Be easy, though, child. My husband and I have seen almost four centuries pass. We have outlived not only our children, but all but one of our grandchildren as well. You are in fact a descendent of mine, child. I can feel a touch of Amberlin in you, bless her soul. Your great, great grandmother."

"Too far removed for blood wards, more's the pity," Dumbledore said. "Although I'm afraid you'll have to add two greats, Madam. Amberlin was his four times great grandmother, making you his five times great grandmother."

"Indeed," Branwenn said, looking over Harry's head. "The boy has not been treated well, Albus. I feel abuses past and heartbreak, almost non-stop. It is a wonder the boy hasn't gone fully dark."

Amelia sat up. "What do you mean, fully?"

"I mean if that damned fool child Delia forces a bonding, you will have another Voldemort on your hands," Branwenn Lloyd said firmly, though oddly she did not look at them when she spoke, but continued to face a point over Harry's head. "This boy's fate is his own, and his bondmates have already been chosen by the gods themselves."

Harry realized the woman could not physically see, at least not with her eyes. She was so old her magic had literally burned out her eyes—and yet he knew she could see everything there was about him through her hands. "Dame Branwenn," he said softly, "may I join your coven?"

"Aye, child, you _will_ join my coven. I'll call for it at Sabbat. You belong with the Lloyds. And I'll have a suitable wand waiting for you, child. Though, I think we both know you won't be in the Lloyd Coven for long. Just remember us kindly, when the Potter Coven comes into its own."

"I will, Dame Branwenn," he said.

She lifted her dry, leathery hands from his cheeks and patted his head with what would have been a fond smile, had her face been able to emote. "This one is going to change the world, I can feel it. Until we meet again, child, know that not everyone is against you." She leaned down to whisper in his ear. "And though Albus can be troublesome at times, he is not your enemy. Be sure not to make him one."

With that she turned and walked slowly to the fireplace.

"Well, that went better than I hoped," Amelia said. "Congratulations, Mr Potter, you just had an interview with the oldest living witch in the world."

"I thought Perenelle Flamel was the oldest," Harry said.

"She was, last year," Dumbledore said. "Sadly, Nicholas and his wife perished defending the Philosopher's Stone from a magical attack from an unknown assailant. The Stone was unfortunately destroyed, as were the Flamels. This makes Branwenn Lloyd, at three hundred and ninety eight years old, the oldest living witch."

Dumbledore stood and walked around the desk. "Rest assured, Mr Potter, that Professor McGonagall and Madam Bones will fight for you. But also prepare yourself for any outcome. The Covens may decide actions beyond just what Coven you will be associated with."

"I will, sir, thank you."

"Very well. Off with you, then."

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

Harry skipped all his classes except for Muggle Studies, where they were doing yet another module of testing for the GCSE maths, and even then his mind was barely there. After four years of living in the magical world, he felt naked without his wand.

The stares didn't help. Only his teammates and roommates spoke to him, the rest just stared, or ignored him altogether, as if somehow the threat of the judgment against him might hurt them as well. Worse yet, Hermione wouldn't even look at him, not even when he tried to say hello.

After class, he waved off his roommates. "I think I'll just take a walk," he told the boys. "You know, just to clear my head."

Being mid-March in Scotland, Harry layered himself and grabbed his raincoat, but for once it was a bright, sunny day. It was windy, and cold, but sunny nonetheless. He wrapped himself up in his jacket to ward off the wind and made his way out into the grounds. Before too long, his steps took him to Hagrid's hut, where the half-giant was tending to a paddock of Hippogriffs.

"'Allo, 'Arry!" he bellowed, raising a giant meaty hand. "What brings yer out this way?"

"Just wanted to get a breath of fresh air. How are you?"

"Oh, can't complain, summat," he said. He continued brushing the animal he was working on while it snorted and stamped its claws. Though the creature had the body of a horse, it had the wings, head and claws of a giant eagle, and they were deadly. Malfoy came close to getting a claw buried in his body during their class on the creatures, but Professor Kettleburn had been keeping her eye on the boy and knew he would be trouble. She saved him at the last minute, after giving him a good scare, and then assigned him two weeks' detention.

"Need a hand?"

"Sure," Hagrid said.

Harry grabbed a thick bristled comb and walked toward another of the regal creatures, bowing as he did so. Hippogriffs were not sentient creatures, and so their language consisted of things like _Food, Sex, Young, Prey, Fly this way_, _Fight, Flee_, and _Sex_.

Harry found it odd that a creature with a vocabulary of only eight to ten words had two of them for sex, but still the creatures were regal in appearance even if they were not the brightest in the world. Once the Hippogriff returned his bow to allow him close, he stepped to its flank and began to brush.

"Old Abe at Hogsmeade read the paper to me this morn," Hagrid said, since the man could not read himself. "Bad bit o' business, that. Not right, what 'dem witches done. Not right. Bad business."

"Yeah," Harry said.

"That girl o' yours, with the funny name, she alright, then?"

"Hermione? Yeah, I suppose. She hasn't talked to me since then."

Hagrid snorted. "Don't suppose she would, now would she? Poor thing prolly thinks it's all her doing, or some such. I seen her out by the lake last night, cryin' and such."

Harry froze and stared at the giant a moment, stunned. The Hippogriff tapped him on the head hard with her wing, demanding he finish. He stared brushing again on automatic. "Hermione was out here, crying?"

"That she was," Hagrid said. "Bad business, that. Bad business. Pretty girl, smart and all, like yer mum."

"Yeah. She's smart about some things, but I wonder if she's smart about others."

Hagrid shrugged and easily tossed the one ton animal aside to move on to the next. "Brains'r funny things, I'm thinking. Summat ken real good, knowin' books and summat, but not people. Some ken people but not books. Some ken both—them's the ones ya look out fer. Others don't ken nothing, like me."

"Hagrid, I think you ken people better than anyone else I know."

Hagrid chuckled. "Nice to say so, but I like me friends here in the paddocks. Hippogriffs don't go cryin' and making me feel sad or summat."

"No, I suppose not." Harry laughed when Hagrid started singing a drinking song involving very large women and lots of beer. They had just finished brushing the animals down when one of the school owls swept down and landed on the paddock gate a few feet from Harry with a scrap of parchment.

"Reckin' that's yours, then," Hagrid said.

Nodding, Harry took the parchment from the owl and read over it. "I have to go, Hagrid."

"Right, then. Well, keep yer chin up, no matter what!"

"I will, Hagrid. Thanks."

He began the long walk back to the castle, struggling to keep his thoughts under control by using every Occlumency technique he knew. He made it just past the courtyard when he saw Hermione, holding her robes hitched up past the knees of her skirt, running full tilt. When she saw him, her trajectory changed, but her speed did not. He backed up a step in alarm when she suddenly dove at him, wrapped her arms around his neck, and hugged him so hard he thought his ribs were going to crack.

"I'm so sorry," she sobbed into his shoulder. "It's all my fault, I just know it. If I hadn't gone with you to that blasted dance, none of this would be happening. I'm so sorry, but when you asked I was just so happy I didn't think and now it's too late and I'm so sorry."

Fortunately there were no other students at that part of the castle, so rather than trying to calm her down he put an arm around her shoulder and simply let her cry it out. When at last she backed up, red-faced from crying, he said, "It's my fault, Hermione. Dame Delia was pushing this because I refused a poaching attempt by a Medici."

"I read that," she said, sniffing. "How did you resist that, by the way?"

"Occlumency," Harry said with a shrug. "Everyone makes a big deal of my being an Occlumens without thinking about what that means. Look, Hermione, it's not your fault. One of my friends was being attacked, so I helped. Those old bats were the ones attacking; they're the ones who started it, not you. Okay?"

She sniffed, wiped her eyes, and nodded. "I am your friend, Harry," she finally said. "If you ever need help, with anything, I'll do anything I can."

"That goes both ways. You're my friend too, Hermione. And I don't have enough friends to ever take one for granted. Especially you." Then, because it just seemed like the right thing to do, he leaned down and gently kissed her on her lips. The kiss was salty with her tears, but it still just _felt_ right. He kept his magic tightly locked up behind his barriers even as he felt her magic washing over him with the sudden onslaught of emotion.

He parted and smiled at her stunned, wide-eyed expression. "It'll be okay," he told her. "No matter what."

With those last words he turned and continued toward the Headmaster's office.

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**Author's Note**: Very special thanks as always to Teufel1987, JR and Miles for beta reading. If there are any major faux-pas, they are entirely of my own doing.


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